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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/aliceforshortOOdemoiala 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT 


By 
WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN 

AUTHOR  OP 

SOMEHOW  GOOD,    IT    NEVBR   CAN    HAPPEN   AGAIN, 

JOSEPH  VANCE,   AND  AN  AFFAIR  OF  DISHONOR 


GROSSET     &     DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  ::  NEW    YORK 


COPYBIGHT,   1907 
BT 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


PublisTud  May,  1907 


TBE  QUINN    &   BODEN    CO.    PEESS 
RAH  WAY,    N.    J. 


DEDICATED 

TO 

E.  B.  J.  AND  W.  M. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I 

FAOK 

OF    NEAK    FIFTY    YEARS    AGO,    AND    OP    ALICE    AND    HER    BEER- JUG; 

AND  now  THE  LATTER  WAS  MENDED 1 

CHAPTER  II 
OF  Alice's  belongings  and  how  they  fell  out.    also  how  the 

FIRST-FLOOR  CAME  DOWNSTAIRS 11 

CHAPTER  III 

OF  THE  ANTECEDENTS  OF  ALICE'S  BELONGINGS 27 

CHAPTER  IV 

OF  ALICE'S  RIDE  IN  A  CAB  WITH  THE  FIRST-FLOOR.      OF  THE  FIR8T- 

FLOOR'S  beautiful  SISTER,   AND  HER  PARROT     ....        35 

CHAPTER  V 

OF    THE    first-floor's    FAMILY,   AND  OF    HOW  HIS  MOTHER  SHOULD 

HAVE  BEEN  TOLD 41 

CHAPTER  VI 

OF  HOW  ALICE  COULD  NOT  GO  BACK  TO  FATHER,  AND  WHY.  OF 
HOW  THE  DOCTOR  CAME  TO  ALICE,  AND  ALICE  DIDN'T  GO  TO 
AN  INQUEST.  AND  OP  HOW  IT  CAME  TO  PASS  THAT  ALICE  WAS 
NOT  TO  GO  BACK  TO  MOTHER 50 

CHAPTER  VII 

OF  pussy's  MILE,   AND  OP  THE  LADY  WITH  THE  BLACK  SPOTS  .        67 

CHAPTER  VIII 

OF  THE  PSYCHICAL  RESEARCH  INTO  THE  LADY  WITH  THE  SPOTS.  OF 
A  CERTAIN  TABLE.  AND  OP  HOW  ALICE  CRIED  IN  THE  DARK. 
HOW  MR.  HEATH  CALLED  HIS  SISTER  TO  SEE  MR.  JOHNSON.  HOW 
ALICE  WAS  TOLD  THAT  THAT  WAS  MOTHER.  HOW  MR.  HEATH'S 
BISTER  KISSED  MOTHER,  AND  WHY.  OF  A  PAWN-TICKET,  AND 
HOW  DR.   JOHNSON  WROTE  A  PRESCRIPTION  WRONG     ...         72 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  IX 

PAOB 
OF  THE  NEW  TENANTS  AT  NO.  40  AND  HOW  MR.  HEATH  MADE  THEIR 
ACQUAINTANCE.   OP  THE  CAT'S  BONES  AND  OP  DK.  JOHNSON'S 
INPATUATION 83 

CHAPTER  X 

OP  THE  DISTRICT  SURVEYOR.  OP  THE  NEW  KILN-FOUNDATION  AND 
WHAT  WAS  FOUND  IN  IT.  OP  ALICE'S  FATHEU'S  DREAM.  HOW 
ABOUT  THE  LADY  WITH  THE  SPOTS?     OP  MISS  PEGGY'S  ADORERS     100 

CHAPTER  XI 

OF  THE  STORY  OP  THE  BONES.      A  POSSIBLE  CLUE.      MR.  VERRINDER. 

MR.   HEATH  GOES  TO  SEE  HIM.      CONCERNING  BEDLAM  .  .115 

CHAPTER  XII 

OF  A  VISIT  OP    ALICE  TO  NO.   40,    AND   OF    THE  RED  MAN  WITH  THE 

KNIFE 129 

CHAPTER  XIII 

OF  SHELLACOMBE   SANDS,  AND   WHAT  PEGGY  THOUGHT  THERE.      AND 

WHOM   SHE  MET  THERE 138 

CHAPTER  XIV 

OP  BOHEMIA,  AND  HOW  THE  MISS  PRYNNES  APPEARED  THERE.  OP 
THE  FINE  ARTS  AND  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  OP  TERP- 
SICHORE,  AND  A  GHOST  THAT  MR.    HEATH  SAW     ....      148 

CHAPTER  XV 

OF  ALICE'S  WALK  TO   SURGE   POINT    AND  HOW  SHE  WENT  OVER  THE 

CLIFF.      OP  A  DECLARATION  AT  A  CRISIS 161 

CHAPTER  XVI 

OP  HOW  BROTHERS    ARE    FOOLS,    AND    HOW    PEGGY  WASN'T  EXACTLY 

ENGAGED.      OP  ALICE'S  FAMILY,    BUT  NOT  MUCH  .  .  .      177 

CHAPTER  XVII 

BOTHER  LAVINIA  BTRAKEr!  OP  MISS  THISELTON'S  PROFILE.  HOW 
CHARLES  HAD  BETTER  GO  TO  SHELLACOMBE.  OF  REGENTS  PARK 
AND  A  GIRL  HE  SAW  THERE 185 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

OP  MISS  STRAKER'S  ANTECEDENTS,  AND  HER  VOICE.  WHY  DIDN'T 
CHARLES  GO  TO  SHELLACOMBE?  HOW  MISS  PRYNNE  SAW  A 
GHOST.  HOW  DR.  JOHNSON  SAW  MISS  STRAKER  CHARLES  ISN'T 
IN  LOVE 197 


CONTENTS  vii 

CHAPTER  XIX 

PAOE 
OP  SIR.  VERRINDER  AT  THE  RAILWAY  STATION.      OP  ALICE-P0R-8H0RT 
AND   THE   BEETLE.      WHO   WAS  THE   NICE   LADYLIKE   GIRL?      PSY- 
CHICAL RESEARCH 20& 

CHAPTER  XX  ^ 

OP  MISS  STRAKER'S  cold,  and  how  CHARLES  WENT  TO  SEE  HER 
AFTER.  OF  HER  GOBLIN  MOTHER,  AND  HOW  CHARLES  SPOKE 
FRENCH.      OF  A  CHAT  AFTER  MC3IC,   IN  THE  DUSK        .  .  .      215 

CHAPTER  XXI 

HOW  CHARLES  WENT  TO  BELGIUM,  AND  CAME  BACK.  HOW  MISS 
STRAKER  SANG  TILL  ELEVEN  O'CLOCK.  ALICE'S  SPECIMEN. 
PROPHETIC  POLLY.  HOW  CHARLES  COULD  LOOK  HIS  SISTER 
STRAIGHT  IN  THE  FACE  ABOUT  MISS  STRAKER       ....      224 

CHAPTER  XXII 

HOW  PEGGY  CALLED  ON  MISS  STRAKER,  AND  MISS  STRAKER  WENT 
TO  THE  GARDENS.  HOW  ALICE  AGREED  WITH  POLLY  ABOUT 
HER.  CHARLES'S  FATHER  THINKS  HIM  A  FOOL.  HOW  MISS 
STRAKER  WROTE  A  LETTER,  AND  LANDED  A  FISH.  BUT  WHAT 
ABOUT  REGENTS  PARK? 232 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

HOW  PEGGY  CALLED  AGAIN  ON  MISS  BTRAKER,  AND  GOT  LITTLE  COM- 
FORT FOR  CHARLES.      MISS  STRAKER'S  UNCERTAIN  SOUND    .  .      242 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

OP  MISS  PRYNNE'S  SECOND  GHOST.  AND  HER  CAT,  MOSES.  SHE  IS  NOT 
SO  SCRAGGY,  AFTER  ALL.  PSYCHICAL  RESEARCH.  HOW  CHARLES 
BROKE  MISS  STRAKER  QUITE  OFF.  MISS  GEORGIE  ARROWSMITH. 
PEGGY  WILL  SEE  MISS  STRAKER  AGAIN 248 

CHAPTER  XXV 

CHARLES  AND  JEFP  GO  TO  SEE  VERRINDER.      HE  WILL  NOT  USE  HIS 

OLD  PAINTS  ANY  MORE 255 

CHAPTER  XXVI 

HOW  ALICE  KNEW  ALL  ABOUT  IT.  ALICE'S  RING  AND  THE  JEWELS 
THEREON.  MISS  STRAKER'S  LONG  LETTER,  WHICH  CHARLES  DID 
NOT  READ  TO  HIS  FATHER.  BUT  HOW  ABOUT  EXETER  HALL? 
OF  6CRUNCHY  DAYS  AND  SQUASHY  DAYS.  HOW  PEOPLE  TALK. 
WAS  CHARLES  PERHAPS  UNFAIR,   AFTER  ALL?        ....      263 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXVII 


PAas 


HOW  MISS  PRYNKE  HTINTED  FOB  MOSES.  HOW  CHARLES  WILL  BUY 
PHYLLIS  CARTWRIGHT.  JONAH  AND  ST.  MARGARET.  HOW  CHARLES 
WENT  FOR  A  WALK  IN  REGENTS  PARK.  AND  OVERHEARD  A 
CONVERSATION.      HOW  HE  FOUND  MISS  8TRAKER  AT  HOME  .      278 

CHAPTER  XXVIU 

ET  NOS  MUTAMUR  IN  ILLIS 287 

CHAPTER  XXIX 

HOW  PEGGY  HAD  BECOME  A  GREAT  MAD-DOCTOR'S  WIPE.  HOW 
ALICE-FOR-SHORT  HAD  BEEN  ALICE  FOR  LONG  ENOUGH  TO  BE- 
COME A  WOMAN.      HOW  THE  PARROT    HAD  FORGOTTEN  NOTHING     293 

CHAPTER  XXX 

HOW  DEATH  MUST  NEEDS  BE  SAD,  EVEN  OF  A  RIDDANCE.  HOW  A 
BOY  NAMED  PIERRE  HAD  SMALLPOX,  AND  ALICE  WENT  TO 
NURSE  HIM 300 

CHAPTER  XXXI 

HOW  CHARLES  AND  MRS.  GAMP  HAD  A  CLASSICAL  CABMAN,  AND  HOW 
THEY  ENJOYED  THE  BALCONY  IN  THE  MOONLIGHT.  HOW  CHARLES 
WAS  A  BAD  ARTIST,   AND  ALICE  SHOWED  HER  LOVE-LETTERS       .      309 

CHAPTER  XXXII 

HOW  ALICE  GOT  LET  IN  FOR  PARNASSUS.  HOW  SHE  WISHED  CHARLES 
A  RESPLENDENT  WIFE.  OP  TWO  FOOLS,  AND  WHAT  THEY  SAID. 
OP   A  MS.   THAT  CAME  TO  LIGHT 326 

CHAPTER  XXXIII 

HOW  LATAKIA  KEPT  OFF  INFECTION,  AND  HOW  ALICE  WENT  TO 
FRIENDS  IN  THE  COUNTRY.  HOW  PHYLLIS  CARTRIGHT  CAME 
OUT  OF  A  DARK  ROOM,   AND  JEFF  SAW  AN  OPTICAL  DELUSION  .      336 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

HOW  CHARLES  WENT  TO  THE  ALPS,  AND  FOUND  THEM  THERE  STILL. 
BACK  IN  ENGLAND  AND  OFF  TO  8HELLACOMBE.  BUT  NO  ALICE. 
HOW  ST.  POB  HAD  A  GAP,  AND  MR.  WILKINSON  WAS  CURED  WITH 
rat's  BLOOD  AND  TREACLE.  OP  A  LETTER  UNDER  A  CARPET, 
AND  ITS  LIGHT  ON  AN  ESCAPADE  OF  ALICE'S.  HOW  THE  PICNIC 
CAME  HOME 345 


CONTENTS  ix 

CHAPTER  XXXV 

FAaa 

HOW  ALICE  LOOKED  OUT  FOR  A  SPARROW'S  SHADOW,  AND  LET  HER 
NURSE  READ  CHAULES's  LETTER  ALOUD.  HOW  CHARLES  MADE  A 
MORTAL  SHORT-CUT  ACROSS  A  CHURCHYARD,  AND  TOOK  ALICE 
TO  WIMBLEDON.  HOW  GRANDMAMMA  WOULD  TALK  ABOUT  MISS 
STRAKER  

CHAPTER  XXXVI 


358 


A  SUDDEN  CASE  OP  CATALEPSY.  THE  NAME  WAS  VERRINDER.  HOW 
SIR  RUPERT  ADVOCATED  TREPHINING  OLD  JANE.  WAS  THE  OLD 
OAK-CHEST  AV0R8E?  WHY  VERRINDER  WATCHED  BEDLAM.  HOW 
CHARLES  BELONGED  TO  THE  GENERATION  OF  PEN-VIPERS  .      377 

CHAPTER  XXXVII 

HOW  SIR  RUPERT  GOT  HIS    WAY,    AND    PEGGY    AND    ALICE    WENT  TO 

BEDLAM.      WHERE  WERE  THE  PATIENTS?     A  USELESS  VIGIL  .      393 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

HOW    OLD    JANE    WAKED    FROM    YOUNG    JANE'S    SLEEP.      HOW   ALICE 

WENT  BACK  TO  BEDLAM 403 

CHAPTER  XXXIX 

HOW  ALICE  STAYED  IN  BEDLAM,  AND  HAD  TO  BE  CYNTHIA  LUTTRKLL. 

HOW  MRS.   GAISFORD  WAS  A  MENTAL  CASE  ....      412 

CHAPTER  XL 

HOW    ALICE    RAN    AWAY,   AND    OLD    JANE    GUESSED.      HOW    CHARLES 

AND  ALICE  GOT  PHOTOGRAPHED  IN  VERRINDER'S  LODGINGS  .      420 

CHAPTER  XLI 

HOW  OLD  JANE  PUT  ON  HER  WIDOW'S  WEEDS.  AND  SAW  HERSELF 
IN  THE  GLASS.  HOW  ALICE  AND  OLD  JANE  RESIDED  TEMPO- 
RARILY AT  CHARLES'S  HOUSE 420 

'    CHAPTER  XLII 

OF  THE  RUIN  OF  CHARLES'S  ART.      HOW  ABOUT  OLD  JANE'S  MEMORIES. 

BEST  TAKE  HER  TO  NO.   40 435 

CHAPTER  XLIII 

OLD  jane's  VISIT  TO  HER  HOME  OF  SEVENTY  YEARS  AGO.  A  PEEP 
INTO  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  WHO  THE  GHOST  WAS,  UNDER 
THE  LITTLE  DANCING  FIGURE.  HOW  LAVINIA  SAT  IN  THE  CHAIB 
AGAIN 448 


X  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XLIV 

PASS 
PSYCHICAL   RESEARCH,      HOW   HERCULES    OVERTOOK  NESStTS.      SIXTY- 
SIX  FOR  THREE  WICKETS.      SHE  MUST   HAVE  BEEN  PRETTY   ONCE     459 

CHAPTER  XLV 

HOW  MR.  SCOTT  HAD  WRITTEN  A  NOVEL.  MORE  MEMORY  OP  OLD 
jane's.  CHELSEA  WATERWORKS  IN  HYDE  PARKl  MORE  INGRE- 
DIENTS FOR  A  SUPERNATURAL  PIE 468 

CHAPTER  XLVI 

THE  PIE  CREEPS  ON.  HOW  ALICE  SAW  MRS.  KAIMES  AGAIN  AT  NO.  40, 
HOW  CHARLES  AND  ALICE  WENT  TO  SEE  THE  TOWER.  60  DID  OLD 
JANE  AND  HER  HUSBAND  ONCE.  OP  EXPERIMENTS  WITH  A 
WEDDING-RING.  AN  EMBARRASSMENT,  AND  A  DECEPTION.  STILL 
OLD  JANE  GOES  TO  SLEEP  HAPPY 477 

CHAPTER  XL VII 

BUT  SHE  DOES  NOT  WAKE,  THIS  TIME.  AND  SHE  DIED  UNDER  A  DE- 
LUSION. NOW  SUPPOSE  IT  HAD  BEEN  true!  HOW  CHARLES  MET 
HIS  BEAU-P:feRE  IN  THE  REGENTS  PARK.  THE  WITCHES  IN  MAC- 
BETH.    A  LETTER  OF  MISS  STRAKER'S.     HOW  IF  ALICE  HERSELF — ?     497 

CHAPTER  XLVIII 

NONE  SO  BLIND  AS  THOSE  WHO  CAN'T  SEE.  PEGGY  GIVES  ALICE  UP. 
NOT  WANT  TO  MARRY  ALICE — RUBBISH!  A  GREAT  REVELATION, 
WHICH  IS  PREMATURE 510 

CHAPTER  XLIX 

THE  LITTLE  ARCADIANS,  AND  HOW  CHARLES  BOUGHT  THEM.  A 
FUNERAL  IN  A  FOG,  AND  HOW  ALICE  CLEANED  THE  SHEPHERD. 
AND  WHAT  SHE  FOUND.  HOW  CHARLES  COULD  STAND  IT  NO 
LONGER,   AND  COOK  WASN'T  CANDID      .  ,  ,  .  .  .      518 

CHAPTER  L 

HOW  CHARLES  CLEARED  OUT  HIS  OLD  CUPBOARDS.  OP  LAVINIA 
STRAKER'S  EPITAPH.  OF  A  WEDDING  AND  ONE  OF  ITS  SEQUELS. 
OF  A  REMOVAL,  AND  A  DOCUMENT  THAT  CAME  TO  LIFE.  HOW 
THE  FATHER  OF  ALICE'S  RED  MAN  HAD  BEEN  IN  FEAR  OF  GOD, 
AND  ACKNOWLEDGED  ANOTHER  OF  HIS  SONS.  HOW  ALICE  WAS 
DESCENDED  FROM  THE  VICTIM  OF  A  DEVIL.  HEBREWS  THIR- 
TEEN   532 

CHAPTER  LI 

OF  SIR  CRAMER  8TENDHALL  LUTTRELL's  WILL,  AND  HOW  ALICE'S 
PROPERTY  WAS  TOO  LARGE  TO  CLAIM.  HOW  SHE  LET  IT  ALONE 
AND  WAS  HAPPY.  OF  A  CAT  SHE  COULD  REMEMBER  IN  THE 
AREA,   AND  THE  STRANGENESS  OF  THINGS 545 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT 


CHAPTEK  I 

OF  NEAB  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO,  AND  OF  ALICE  AND  HER  BEER-JUG;  AND  HOW 
THE   LATTER  WAS   MENDED 

In  the  January  in  which  this  story  begins  there  was  a  dense  fog 
in  London,  and  a  hard  frost.  And  there  was  also  a  little  girl  of  six 
in  a  street  in  Soho,  where  the  fog  was  as  thick  and  the  frost  as 
hard  as  anywhere  else  in  the  metropolis.  The  little  girl  was  bring- 
ing home  the  beer  from  the  Duke  of  Clarence's  Head  at  the  corner 
to  an  old  house  that  had  been  built  in  the  days  of  her  great-great- 
grandfathers. She  did  not  like  bringing  it;  and  though  her  eyes 
were  blue  and  she  was  a  nice  little  girl,  she  could  almost  have 
found  it  in  her  heart  to  stop  and  drink  some  of  it  on  the  way. 
But  she  was  afraid  of  her  mother.  So  she  staggered  on  with  her 
large  jug,  and  nobody  offered  to  help  her. 

Her  great-great-grandfathers  had  been  better  off  than  she  was. 
At  any  rate  in  their  days,  however  cold  it  was,  there  was  no  fog 
to  speak  of;  certainly  not  one  like  this.  In  those  days  she  might 
not  have  been  choked  with  coughing  in  addition  to  frozen  finger 
tips.  She  might  have  had  chilblains,  but  her  eyes  would  not  have 
smarted  as  they  did  now.  She  might  have  been  able  to  see  more 
than  her  own  small  length  in  front  of  her;  and  then  perhaps  she 
would  have  detected  in  good  time  a  boy  with  a  red  nose  and  a  red 
comforter  to  console  it  who  was  making  a  slide  on  the  pavement, 
and  would  not  have  been  run  into  by  that  boy  and  his  circle  of 
friends  who  were  assisting  him  in  making  that  slide. 

Would  these  boys'  great-great-grandfathers  have  behaved  as  ill  as 
their  great-great-grandsons  did  when  they  had  overwhelmed  a  de- 
fenceless little  girl  six  years  old,  and  knocked  her  over  and  rolled 
upon  her,  and  smashed  her  glorious  jug  in  three  pieces,  and  spilt 
her  precious  nectar  in  the  gutter  ?  I  hope  not.  I  trust  they  would 
have  helped  her  tenderly  to  her  feet,  and  subscribed  among  them- 
selves to  make  good  the  damage. 

These  boys  did  no  such  thing.     On  the  contrary  they  appeared 


2  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

to  rejoice  at  the  mishap,  and  to  look  forward  with  satisfaction  to 
further  misfortune  for  its  victim.  "You  tike  the  'andle  and  the 
pieces  home,"  they  said;  "won't  you  cotch  it  'ot  neither!"  And 
then  one  or  two  of  them  desisted  from  a  dance  of  joy  at  the  pros- 
pect, to  collect  the  fragments  of  the  jug  and  unreasoningly  advo- 
cate their  careful  preservation.  "You  kitch  tight  holt,  and  don't 
let  go."  But  no  sooner  had  they  by  vigorous  and  confident  repeti- 
tions produced  conviction,  and  the  little  maiden  was  really  satis- 
fied that  the  proper  course  in  such  a  case  would  be  to  carry  home 
the  pieces  of  the  jug,  for  reasons  unexplained,  than  one  of  them 
detected  a  sound  through  the  fog  as  of  Law  and  Order  approaching 
and  slapping  their  representative's  hands  across  his  chest  to  keep 
out  the  cold.  On  which  account,  he,  being  Policeman  P  21,  found 
no  boys  on  the  scene — only  the  little  maiden.  To  whom  his  first 
words  were  not  encouraging.  For  they  were  identically  the  very 
words  the  boys  had  used.  "You'll  catch  it  hot,  little  missy,"  said 
he,  as  though  a  universal  understanding  existed  among  persons 
out  in  the  street,  from  which  little  girls  were  excluded.  No  won- 
der this  little  girl  sobbed  the  more.  And  the  Policeman  made 
matters  no  better  by  adding:  "Sooner  you're  'ome,  sooner  it'll  be 
done  with!" — a  ghastly  speech,  with  its  reference  to  an  undefined 
SOMETHING — the  Same  that  was  going  to  be  caught  hot. 

"What's  all  that  you've  got  in  there — pudd'n'?"  said  the  Police- 
man. This  was  an  absurd  question,  and  only  asked  to  show  the 
speaker's  contempt  for  his  subject.  It  didn't  matter  whether  he 
was  right  or  wrong;  he  was  so  great,  and  the  little  girl  was  so 
insignificant !  i 

"Pieces,  please !    The  boys  said  I  was  to." 

"The  boys  said  you  was  to!  Next  time,  you  tell  'em  to  mind 
their  own  consarns,  or  I'll  let  'em  know !" 

"Please,  Sir,  you  won't  be  there."  This  is  what  the  little  girl 
wanted  to  say,  but  speech  failed  half-way;  sobs  had  the  best  of  it. 
It  was  an  additional  horror  that  there  was  going  to  be  a  next 
time.    Would  things  never  cease  getting  worse  and  worse? 

"You  may  chuck  'em  down  here — I  give  leave,  bein'  on  duty. 
Some  of  our  division  wouldn't.  Chuck  'em  down!  I'll  take  my 
chance  of  being  reported."  And  the  little  girl  was  reflecting 
whether  she  ought  to  chuck  them  down,  with  further  breakage,  or 
lay  them  carefully  in  the  gutter  without,  when  another  passer-by 
came  out  of  the  fog.    He  was  acquainted  with  the  Policeman. 

"What's  this  young  culprit  after,  Mr.  Officer?  Bad  case?"  said 
he.  The  reply  was  substantially  that  it  was  a  very  bad  one,  and 
that  that  quart  would  never  be  drunk  by  them  as  paid  for  it. 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  3 

'TJnless  the  child's  parents  comes  afore  it  freezes.  She'd  better 
run  and  tell  them  to  come  quick,"  said  the  Policeman.  And  the 
young  man  in  spectacles,  whom  he  addressed,  confirmed  him  with 
such  gravity,  and  his  brown  beard  looked  so  convincing,  that  the 
little  thing  really  seemed  to  accept  the  suggestion.  It  may  be 
Hope  had  revived,  with  a  vision  of  her  parents  on  their  knees  by 
the  beer  puddle,  drinking  deep.  But  she  did  not  start,  because 
the  spectacles  looked  enquiringly  at  her,  and  their  owner's  mouth 
asked  her  name.  This  put  matters  on  a  human  footing,  and  the 
sobs  subsided.  But  they  only  gave  place  to  inconsecutiveness, 
apparently. 

"Blow  your  nose  and  speak  up,  little  missy,"  said  the  Policeman. 
**Don't  you  hear  the  gentleman's  asking  your  name?"  And  the 
child  repeated  her  half -heard  words  more  audibly,  and  less  timidly. 

"Please,  you're  the  gentleman  on  the  first  floor " 

"Oh,  am  I?  Then  you're  the  little  girl  in  the  extensive  base- 
ment with  cellarage.  Come  along !  Don't  cry."  And  after  a  word 
with  the  Policeman  about  new-born  babies  being  sent  to  fetch  beer, 
the  small  delinquent  accepted  the  protection  of  the  young  man 
without  question,  and  walked  off  clinging  to  his  hand. 

But  they  had  not  gone  many  steps  when  she  asked,  "Please  was 
she  to  keep  the  pieces  or  not  ?"    This  required  consideration. 

"That  depends,  Miss  Extensive  Basement,  with  Cellarage,  on  the 
quality  and  number  of  the  pieces.    Let's  have  a  look." 

The  child  detached  her  hand  from  her  protector's,  and  extended 
her  pinafore  and  its  contents.  He  picked  up  the  handle  bit,  and 
contemplated  it. 

"As  an  example  of  the  Ceramic  Art,  Miss  Basement,  or  Miss  Cel- 
larage— which  do  you  prefer?" — 

"Please,  Sir,  I'm  Alicia,  or  Alice,  for  short." 

"Well,  Alicia,  or  Alice-for-short,  provided  that  the  whole  of  the 
fragments  of  this  jug  can  be  recovered  from  the  pavement,  I  will 
go  so  far  as  to  offer  to  acquire  it  for  the  sum  of  two  shillings  nett. 
Let  us  return  to  the  scene  of  the  accident,  and  endeavour  to  re- 
cover the  missing  fragments.  It  may  be  an  example  without  inter- 
est for  the  collector,  or  it  may  be  otherwise.  Here  we  are  on  the 
scene  of  the  tragedy,  and  there  are  two  pieces!"  There  were,  and 
apparently  there  were  no  others.  These  were  recovered,  and 
carried  away  with  the  rest  in  the  pinafore. 

The  young  gentleman  in  the  spectacles  did  not  offer  to  carry  any 
of  the  pieces.  He  appeared  to  draw  the  line  at  that,  on  the  score 
of  dignity.  Something  of  this  appeared  also,  in  a  certain  senten- 
tiousness  and  pomposity  of  speech,  as  a  protest  to  empty  space 


4  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

against  Its  possible  misinterpretation  of  a  good-natured  action. 
He  felt  pleasure  in  being  kind  to  the  small  six-year-old  in  her 
desolation;  but  was  not  above  being  glad  it  was  a  thick  fog,  and 
that  the  house  was  not  far  off.  He  hoped  he  would  not  meet  a 
friend,  especially  a  waggish  friend.  And  his  evil  star  saw  its  oppor- 
tunity, and  disappointed  him  on  both  heads  by  contriving  that  the 
artist  on  the  top  floor  should  cut  him  off  on  the  doorstep. 

This  young  gentleman  had  been  endowed  (or  visited)  by  Provi- 
dence with  one  of  the  most  singular  surnames  that  ever  fell  to  the 
lot  of  man.  It  was  Jerrythought.  His  full  name  was  actually 
JefFery  Saunders  Jerrythought.  But  then  all  his  friends  called 
him  "Jeff."  So  it  didn't  much  matter!  Mr.  Jerrythought  was, 
or  pretended  to  be,  very  vulgar,  and  was  never  without  a  pipe  in  his 
mouth. 

"At  it  agin,  'Eath?"  said  he,  shaking  a  reproachful  head  and 
closing  an  astute  eye.  "No  use  denyin'  of  it !  Good  job  I  noticed 
you!"  And  Mr.  Jerrythought  continued  shaking  his  head  and 
grinning  offensively,  and  Alice  couldn't  for  the  life  of  her  see  why. 
Mr.  Heath  replied  with  an  intensification  of  his  dignified  manner. 

"If  I  understand  your  insinuations  rightly,  Mr.  Jeffery  Saunders 
Jerrythought,  I  may  say  your  most  offensive  and  unfounded 
insinuations " 

"Member  of  the  Corps  de  Bally,  'Eath?"  But  Mr.  Heath  ig- 
nored the  interruption. 

'^  presume  you  allude  to  this  young  lady,  whose  character,  I  beg 
to  inform  you,  and  whose  reputation  (I  may  add)  are  above 
aspersion.  Her  residence  is  in  the  spacious  basement  of  this 
mansion,  and  I  believe  she  constitutes  the  sole  incumbrance  of 
the  worthy  couple " 

"I  know — Mother  Gingham — ^looks  blotchy — smells  of  three 
pennyworth  of  rum  shrub.    What's  the  kid  been  at?" 

"Your  description  of  the  mother,"  said  Mr.  Heath,  "appears  to 
me  to  convey  a  correct  impression."  And  then  dropping  his  arti- 
ficial manner  he  went  on :  "The  poor  little  party  had  smashed  the 
beer-jug  and  I  rescued  her.  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  see  her 
through  it.  You  know  about  Bristol  and  Crown  Derby  and  that 
sort  of  thing  ?    Look  at  the  bits  of  the  beer- jug." 

Mr.  Jerrythought  did  so,  and  became  suddenly  serious — ^he  was 
never  known  to  be  really  serious  except  about  Ceramics  or  Chip- 
pendale furniture.  He  almost  gave  a  cry  of  pain.  "My  heart 
alive !"  said  he,  "I  wish  I'd  seen  this  before  it  was  smashed." 

"Thought  you'd  say  so,  Jeff!  But  it's  spilled  milk  now,  as 
well  as  spilled  beer.    Fancy  the  female  mother  of  this  small  kid 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  6 

sending  her  out  with  it!  Fancy  her  sending  her  out  to  the  Pub 
at  all,  for  that  matter!" 

"She  never  knew  its  value.  Stole  it  probably,  and  considered  it 
caretaking!  Why,  it's  a  Robert  Sproddle!  Look  here — I  tell  you 
what!  You  let  me  have  these  pieces — ^I'U  stick  them  together. 
Needn't  say  anything  about  it  to  Goody  Peppermint."  And  Alice, 
the  little  girl,  thought  Goody  Peppermint  certainly  need  know 
nothing  about  it,  as  she  was  a  stranger  quite  outside  her  circle. 
But  Mr.  Heath  perceived  that  this  was  only  another  name  for 
Alice's  mother.  He  saw  this  because  he  was  grown  up,  and  he 
and  Mr.  Jeff  had  secret  reciprocal  understandings  to  the  exclusion 
of  a  very  little  blue-eyed  girl  of  six.  She,  however,  was  not  too  small 
to  discern  protection  for  herself  in  the  tone  of  the  conversation, 
although  she  could  not  analyse  its  components.  She  yielded  the 
precious  fragments  of  the  beer-jug  to  Mr.  Jeff,  who  had  not  im- 
proved his  appearance  by  griping  an  eyeglass  in  one  eye,  which 
seemed  to  hold  it  so  tight,  Alice  thought,  that  she  could  not  have 
pulled  it  out  if  she  had  tried  ever  so.  Also,  she  could  not  under- 
stand why  he  didn't  shut  his  other  eye.  One  of  the  teachers  at 
the  Board  School  had  an  eyeglass,  and  always  did.  She  thought 
of  this  as  Mr.  Jerrythought  went  away  upstairs  with  the  precious 
fragments.  They  had  been  promoted  to  a  Ceramic  position  in  life, 
and  were  no  longer  a  common  jug. 

"Now,  where,"  said  Mr.  Heath,  addressing  Alice,  "where  is  your 
excellent  mother?  Be  good  enough,  Alicia,  or  Alice-for-short, 
to  conduct  me  to  your  respected  mother." 

It  was  not  necessary  for  Alice  to  understand,  and  probably  she 
didn't.  Mr.  Heath  knew  his  way  down  into  the  basement,  because 
he  was  grown  up,  and  knew  things.  Alice  took  his  hand  and  held 
it  tight  like  a  little  girl  who  didn't  want  to  let  go.  Neither  did 
she — at  any  rate  till  her  respected  mother  had  had  time  for  an 
outbreak  of  drunken  anger  and  its  abatement.  Then  she  would 
substitute  maudlin  admonition  for  castigation  or  threats  thereof. 
Alice  thought  that  if  her  protector  could  shelter  her  through  the 
storm,  she  could  deal  with  the  admonition  stage  by  herself. 

"This  is  a  rum  place,  Alice-for-short,"  said  Mr.  Heath,  who 
seemed  to  talk  to  himself  for  the  pleasure  of  doing  so,  without 
waiting  for  people  to  answer.  Alice  considered  she  was  people. 
She  was  framing  a  question  in  reply  to  this  last  remark  of  Mr. 
Heath,  to  find  out  how  he  came  to  know  it  was  rum,  and  not  gin. 
For  she  at  once  connected  his  adjective  with  a  pervading  bottle. 
But  he  went  on  too  quickly  for  her  to  organise  speech. 

"Blackbeetles  probably  abound.    Mice  are  no  doubt  of  frequent 


6  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

occurrence.  I  hear  a  cat,  with  which  something  appears  to  have 
disagreed.  If  I  might  suggest,  Alice-for-short,  you  had  better 
recommend  your  cat  to  eschew  blackbeetles  and  addict  herself 
solely  to  mouse.  I  should  like  to  live  down  here  if  I  was  a 
mouse." 

Alice  wished  to  point  out  that  he  wasn't  one.  But  she  also 
wanted  to  say  what  for  ?  So  she  missed  saying  either,  and  only 
stared,  while  the  speaker  continued: 

"I  should  frequent  that  safe,  which  appears  to  consist  almost 
entirely  of  means  of  ingress  for  persons  anxious  for  the  remains 
of  a  cold  dumpling,  and  a  most  discouraging  rib  of  beef.  That 
safe's  mission  would  seem  to  be  to  supply  a  stimulus  to  larceny  by 
suggestions  of  insecurity.  I  trust  I  make  myself  fully  under- 
stood." 

Not  fully,  apparently.  But  it  didn't  seem  important  to  either. 
Alice's  next  remark  was  to  the  effect  that  she  could  hear  mother, 
in  there.  Mother  wasn't  a  complicated  noise  of  water  beginning 
to  come  in  and  losing  its  temper — ^that  was  clear!  So  she  was 
some  lesser  noise,  veiled  and  hidden,  but  audible  by  members  of 
her  family, 

"Mother's  in  there,  asleep.    Please  can't  you  hear  her?" 

"Perhaps  she  had  better  be  waked  ?" 

"Please  I'm  frightened."  But  there  was  no  need;  for  the  sleeper, 
whose  snores  had  been  the  subject  of  this  conversation,  woke  with 
a  jerk  and  came  out  in  response  to  a  tap  at  the  door,  which 
■Mr.  Heath  had  thought  his  best  way  to  announce  himself.  The 
small  hand  that  held  his  tightened  with  apprehension  and  the 
little  thing  clung  to  him  for  safety,  as  her  unsavoury  parent  stood 
revealed.  She  suggested,  but  came  short  of,  the  Seven  Dials,  old 
St.  Giles'  type — the  sort  that  used  to  wear  a  red  handkerchief 
round  its  neck  and  no  head  covering.  She  addressed  her  daughter 
as  a  little  Devil,  and  wanted  to  know  where  she  had  been  idling 
and  prancing  round. 

It  certainly  was  singular,  thought  Mr.  Heath  to  himself,  that 
any  premises  whatever  should  have  got  entrusted  to  such  a  care- 
taker. Was  this  the  person  who  had  been  mentioned  to  him  when 
the  last  downstairs  tenants  cleared  out  and  carried  with  them  a 
housekeeper  whom  he  had  allowed  to  undertake  his  attendance 
(outside  her  normal  sphere),  as  a  worthy  successor  who  it  was 
desirable  on  all  accounts  that  Mr.  'Eath  should  be  properly  seen 
to?  This  is  literal  reporting.  And  this  housekeeper,  by  whom 
this  mother  of  the  blue-eyed  little  girl  had  been  recommended,  had 
described  her  as  decent  and  sober,  and  had  dwelt  upon  the  good- 


ALICE-rOE-SHOET  ^ 

ness  of  her  'art.  She  had  stood  at  the  fount  with  six  of  her 
thirteen  children,  and  had  helped  bury  three.  "It  sounded,"  said 
Mr.  Heath  to  his  sister  Peggy,  when  he  told  her  of  the  interview, 
"exactly  as  if  she  was  making  a  merit  of  burying  three  of  the  chil- 
dren alive,  in  order  to  reduce  their  number."  Anyhow,  she  must 
have  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  family,  and  may  have  had  some 
means  of  knowing  of  a  decency  and  sobriety  which  certainly  did 
not  speak  for  itself  to  the  passer-by,  as  the  mother  paused  in  a 
pounce  of  vengeance  on  her  small  daughter.  "It  was  the  glare 
of  my  spectacles  brought  her  up  short,"  said  Heath  to  Mr. 
Jerrythought  afterwards.  "Spectacles  have  a  strong  moral  influ- 
ence. That  lens  you  pretend  to  use  and  can't  really  see  through, 
is  a  fund  of  Immorality  in  itself.  Your  appearance,  Mr.  Jerry- 
thought,  is  dissolute." 

"And  what  did  the  hag  do  then?"  said  Mr.  Jerrythought,  who 
didn't  seem  dissatisfied  with  his  friend's  account  of  him. 

"She  climbed  down  and  cringed  and  snivelled  and  abased  herself.- 
But  I  saw  Alice  would  catch  it  after  I  was  gone  if  I  didn't  soften 
matters  down  with  cash.  So  I  brought  remuneration  in  cleverly, 
by  a  side-wind."  This  was  the  case,  for  the  alleged  hag  having" 
taken  up  the  position  that  Hallice  never  was  sent  for  the  beer 
(except  this  once)  and  only  now  because  she  was  that  anxious  to 
be  allowed  to  it,  that  her  mother's  tender  heart  had  softened,  and 
she  had  allowed  its  weakness  to  overcome  her  better  judgment. 

"And  somethin'  within  me,"  said  the  good  woman,  "seemed  to 
murmur  in  my  ear  that  that  child  was  too  young  to  be  trusted. 
But  I  give  way,  bein'  that  easy-goin'  and  indulgent."  And  Alice 
detected  another  something  in  her  mother's  eye  which  she  inter- 
preted as,  "Confirm  me  and  I  will  make  concessions.  Suggest 
doubts  and  you  shall  be  maltreated."  So  she  struck  in,  in  a  small 
tremulous  voice,  "Please  it  was  me  asted." 

"In  course  you  asted.  Likewise  the  expression  you  says  was 
'Marmy  dear,'  you  says,  quite  out  and  courageous  like,  'Marmy 
dear,  you  let  your  little  Hallice  go  and  fetch  father's  beer,  and  save 
you  trapesin'.'  And  Mr.  Kavanagh  is  that  particular  about  the 
child  that  I  will  tell  you,  Sir,  and  concealing  nothing  give  my  hon- 
est word,  I  had  my  doubts  at  the  time,  and  said  so  to  the  milk, 
where  we  have  an  account  and  settle  weekly.  But  Mr.  Kavanagh 
I  kept  in  ignorance,  which  he  remains." 

"I  suppose  you're  Mrs.  Kavanagh  then,"  said  Mr.  Heath,  with 
incredulity  in  his  thoughtful  countenance.  He  spoke  in  the  tone 
of  one  who  selects  a  truth  from  a  heap  of  falsehoods,  but  isn't  con- 
cerned with  the  quality  of  the  residuum. 


8  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

"Hannah  Kavanagh,  Sir,  by  your  leave,  and  christened  accord- 
ingly. And  I  was  just  tiding  round  to  get  a  little  order  like,  when 
on  the  sudden  it  came  upon  me,  what  an  easy  two  minutes  it  was 
to  the  Clarence's  Head,  and  Hallice  gone  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
And  I  do  assure  you.  Sir,  my  'art  sank  within  me  to  think  what 
might  happen  to  that  child  and  remain  unknown.  And  I  had 
just  took  hold  of  my  bonnet  and  shawl,  when  I  caught  the  sound 
of  some  one  knocking  at  the  door.  And  it  was  yourself.  Sir."  Mrs. 
Kavanagh  ended  up  with  an  implication  of  successful  dramatic 
climax. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Kavanagh,  Alice  has  had  a  mishap  and  broken  the 
beer-jug.  It  wasn't  her  fault,  but  mine.  And  I  consider  com- 
pensation due,  and  shall  be  inclined  to  be  liberal  on  two  con- 
ditions." 

"Which  were,  Sir?"  And  Mrs.  Kavanagh  indulged  in  an  inten- 
tional cough  behind  her  hand,  which  conveyed  an  idea  of  pros- 
pective bargaining — of  seeing  how  the  land  lay,  at  any  rate. 

"One,"  said  Mr.  Heath,  taking  his  hand  from  Alice  to  use  its 
forefinger  as  an  indicator  of  numbers  on  the  forefinger  of  his  other 
hand.  Alice  transferred  her  grasp  to  his  coat-pocket  flap.  "One 
that  Alice  shall  remain  unspanked — if  I  may  use  an  expression 
familiar  to  my  infancy."    Mrs.  Kavanagh  exploded. 

"Well,  of  all  the  artful  little  hussies,  I  never!  To  say  such  a 
thing  of  her  own  mother !" — 

"And,"  said  Mr.  Heath  afterwards  to  Mr.  Jerrythought,  "I  had 
my  hands  full  to  quiet  down  the  old  cat.  However,  we  did  get  on  to 
the  second  condition,  which  was  that  this  jug  or  its  remnants 
should  become  my  property  on  payment  of  the  sum  of  three  and 
tenpence-halfpenny," 

"How  did  you  arrive  at  it,  'Eath?" 

*'Three  and  sixpence  for  the  jug,  and  fourpence-halfpenny  for 
the  spillings.  It  appeared  that  a  person  of  condition — who  was 
held  up  as  a  real  gentleman  in  contrast  to  myself — had  offered 
three  shillings.  So  I  went  sixpence  better,  and  overlooked  its 
present  condition." 

"It's  worth  all  of  a  guinea,  smashed  as  it  is."  And  Mr.  Jeff 
gloated  over  the  dismembered  pieces  as  they  lay  on  his  studio 
table.  "Why,  it's  a  Sproddle — a  Robert  Sproddle  too.  Don't 
think  much  of  Ebenezer  Sproddle.  You'll  find  him — ah!  and 
signed  examples,  too! — in  any  bric-a-brac  shop.  But  Robert!" — 
And  speechlessness  alone  coped  with  the  value  of  a  Robert  Sprod- 
dle. Mr.  Heath  stretched  out  his  hand.  "Where's  the  guinea, 
Jeff?"  said  he. 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  9 

"I'll  put  it  down  to  the  account,  Charley,"  replied  Mr.  Jeff, 
insolently.  "It'll  go  to  your  credit.  An  item  of  one  pound  will 
appear  simultaneously  to  my  credit — for  jining  up.  Nothing  but 
the  best  Diamond  Cement  will  be  employed.  Which  of  course  is 
dear,  owing  to  the  price  of  diamonds." 

"You're  a  swindler,  Mr.  Jerrythought.  That's  like  you  and  the 
Latakia.  *To  Latakia  one  and  fourpence'  on  one  side;  and  on  the 
other,  *To  purchasing  and  paying  for  Latakia  one  and  fourpence. 
Total,  two  and  eightpence.'  " 

"That's  all  fair.  It's  double  entry.  You  make  your  accounts 
balance,  and  then  you  add  'em  aU  together,  and  charge  up  the 
total." 

"But  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  pay  you  half  and  you  pay  me 
half." 

"Because  I  got  it  on  tick  from  the  scrumptious  girl  at  the  'baccy 
shop." 

"Yes,  because  she  knew  I  should  pay  for  it." 

"No,  Charles!  Because  she  is  in  love  with  your  humble  but 
deserving  servant,  whose  attractions  for  the  only  sex  which  differs 
are  a  bye-word  with  the  aristocracy."  .  .  . 

And  with  conversation  of  this  sort,  ad  infinitum,  these  young 
men  beguiled  the  time !  For  the  fog,  which  of  course  continued — 
fogs  do — made  work  quite  impossible,  and  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  chatter,  as  above,  and  smoke  the  Latakia. 

If  you  should  have  an  impression  that  the  first-floor  Studio  with 
a  high  north  light,  arbitrarily  forced  up  as  an  addition  to  the 
middle  window,  and  the  sky-lighted  room  in  the  attics,  where  Mr. 
Jeff  was  mending  his  jug,  and  the  above  conversation  took  place — 
if,  I  say,  you  have  an  impression  that  the  apartments  were  not 
bee-hives,  in  respect  of  the  work  done  therein,  you  will  not  be  far 
wrong.  In  fact,  a  sense  of  impatience  at  the  impossibility  of  work 
was  one  of  the  few  tributes  to  the  Goddess  of  Industry  our  young 
friends  ever  paid  her.  During  a  thick  fog,  they  were  quite  con- 
vinced of  the  work  they  would  have  done  had  there  been  no  fog. 
And  the  work  they  hadn't  done  when  there  was  none  assumed  an 
impressive  actuality  to  their  imaginations  which  increased  with 
its  density.  By  the  time  there  was  a  halo  round  the  gas-jets,  and 
the  confirmed  Londoner,  with  a  voice  like  a  mad  dog's  choking 
bark,  was  beginning  to  think  it  time  to  justify  fog  on  the  score 
of  its  antiseptic  qualities,  each  of  these  youths  was  picturing 
himself  in  his  own  mind  as  a  monumental  example  of  thwarted 
enthusiasm,  a  potential  Van  Eyck  or  Memling  straining  at  the 
leash  in  the  pursuit  of  elaborations,  cruelly  hindered  from  assidu- 


10  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

ous  and  determined  effort  by  a  force-majeure  trying  to  the  temper 
but  heroically  endured.  This  hallucination  disappeared  with  the 
return  of  daylight;  and  the  only  consolation  was  that  it  was  too 
late  now,  and  you  couldn't  do  any  real  work  in  a  couple  of  hours, 
and  for  your  part  you  might  just  as  well  shut  up !  And  you  did 
so  accordingly. 

But  it  was  a  jolly  life  for  two  young  men  in  the  early  twenties, 
and  they  enjoyed  it  thoroughly  and  called  it  Bohemian.  Very 
likely  it  was,  but  of  course  if  one  hasn't  lived  in  Bohemia,  one 
doesn't  know  what  amount  of  satisfaction  the  inhabitants  of  that 
country  get  from  buying  rolls  and  butter  and  herrings  and  chest- 
nuts and  sardines  and  other  small  cookabilities,  and  carrying  them 
home  oneself  to  irregular  meals,  and  giving  most  of  them  away  in 
the  end  to  Italian  models.  Or  from  sleeping  at  their  Studio  when 
(as  in  Mr.  Heath's  case)  a  home  awaits  them  which  they  spend 
every  alternate  evening  or  more  at.  One  has  to  accept  the  char- 
acter given  of  that  province  by  those  who  profess  to  know,  and 
hope  that  all  its  inhabitants  are  under  five-and-twenty  and  full 
of  hope  and  buoyancy  like  the  two  young  men  of  this  narrative; 
and  not  like  ourselves,  who  take  this  opportunity  of  recording,  as 
the  view  of  an  old  fogy,  that  we  personally  much  prefer  the  com- 
forts of  a  home,  and  that  nothing  would  induce  us  now  to  be  a 
Bohemian  on  any  human  consideration. 

Anyhow,  there  they  are  in  the  story,  for  better  or  worse  as  may 
be.  And  one  is  the  occupant  of  the  old  state  drawing-room  of  this 
old  Soho  house  in  a  thick  fog,  and  the  other  in  a  thick  fog  and 
the  garrets.  And  so  far  as  the  outsider  can  see,  neither  does  any- 
thing except  laugh  and  sing  and  smoke,  and  sometimes,  when  there 
is  no  fog,  pretend  to  do  a  little  work.  Perhaps  they  will  improve 
as  time  goes  on.    If  so,  the  story  will  show  it. 


CHAPTER  II 

OF  Alice's  belongings  and  how  they  fell  out.    also  how  the 

FIRST-FLOOR   CAME   DOWNSTAIRS 

Alicia  Kavanagh,  who  was  Alice  or  Hallice  for  short,  was  what 
Mr.  Jeff  called  her,  a  few  days  after  the  incident  of  the  broken 
jug.  He  said  she  was  a  new  'un,  and  was  more  your  sort,  Charley, 
than  his.  This  was  true,  as  his  sort  was  considerably  older,  usu- 
ally, than  himself — ^generally  taller — always  of  a  particular  type 
of  which  the  young  tobacco  lady  he  had  mentioned  was  a  sample. 
It  may  be  remarked  here  that  he  seemed  to  take  a  sort  of  pride  in, 
as  it  were,  tuning  down  his  pronunciation  and  phraseology  to  the 
key  of  a  Society  he  himself  had  selected.  It  was  sometimes  a 
little  difficult  to  make  out  whether  he  was  playing  with  his  h's  in 
order  to  offend  the  fastidious,  or  whether  he  couldn't  aspirate  them 
if  he  chose.  His  comment  on  Hallice,  with  an  ostentatious  stress 
on  the  initial,  was  in  reply  to  his  friend's  remark  that  we  mustn't 
lose  sight  of  Miss  Kavanagh. 

Miss  Kavanagh  was  new  enough  as  to  years,  but  her  experience 
was  old  enough  and  sad  enough  to  make  her  feel,  when  she  let 
go  Mr.  Heath's  hand,  that  she  was  slipping  back  into  a  pit  that  a 
beneficent  being  in  spectacles  had  kept  her  out  of,  or  out  of  the 
worst  of,  for  a  few  minutes.  It  was  a  short  interlude,  but  long 
enough  to  make  her  think  how  nice  it  would  be  if  there  was  always 
the  gentleman  on  the  first  floor,  and  not  quite  so  much  of  mother. 
But  time  passed,  and  Hallice  sat  small  and  forlorn,  and  wept  when 
not  at  school,  or  sent  on  an  errand,  in  the  gruesome  basement  with 
extensive  cellarage.  It  was  difficult  to  define  where  the  cellarage 
ended  and  the  basement  that  was  other  than  cellarage  began;  both 
were  so  dark  and  damp  and  smdt  so  of  varieties  of  decay.  There 
was  more  fungus,  no  doubt,  in  the  coal-cellar  and  the  dust-'ole  than 
in  the  pantry  or  the  'ousekeeper's  room,  but  even  that  was  rather 
a  matter  of  guesswork,  and  you  couldn't  really  tell  without  a  light. 
And  there  was  none — at  least,  it  was  only  when  mother  lighted  the 
Paraffin  lamp  you  could  see  anything  at  all.  For  Hallice  had  so 
far  had  no  experience  of  what  sunshine  could  reveal  in  the  base- 
ment of  number  forty,  as  she  and  her  father  and  mother  had  only 
took  the  place  in  November;  the  late  tenants  who  were  a  Danc- 

11 


12  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

ing-School  having  cleared  out  in  the  middle  of  the  quarter,  on  the 
chance  of  new  parties  wanting  to  come  in  before  quarter-day, 
and  its  being  possible  to  exact  a  fraction  of  rent  from  them.  On 
which  accounts  the  Dancing-School  had  sanctioned  bills  in  the 
window,  though  six  weeks  unexpired;  and  Mr.  Kavanagh,  a  most 
respectable  journeyman  tailor,  but  working  at  home  at  present,  with 
his  wife  and  one  daughter,  were  lending  plausibility  to  the  state- 
ment that  particulars  could  be  had  of  Messrs.  Lettsom  &  Ten- 
nant,  the  Agents,  and  also  of  the  Caretaker  on  the  premises.  So 
poor  Miss  Kavanagh  passed  her  small  new  life,  mostly  weeping, 
in  the  darkness  and  the  fungus  growths,  cut  off  from  upstairs  by  a 
swing-door  at  the  top  of  the  kitchen  flight,  and  unsuspected  by 
the  world  above. 

This  was  a  cruel  door  and  made  a  great  difference  to  Hallice. 
For  it  was  very  heavy,  and  she  couldn't  push  it  open  to  come  back 
if  she  went  out  without  leave,  at  least  without  great  danger  of 
tumbling  suddenly  downstairs.  So  she  dared  not  go  out  when  she 
did  not  see  security  of  official  recognition  on  her  return.  Few 
of  us,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  know  exactly  what  it  feels  like  to  call 
timidly  for  admission  to  a  mother  who  will  slap  us  when  admitted, 
for  being  out  of  bounds  without  a  passport.  If  Hallice  could  have 
made  her  father  hear,  he  would  have  come  to  let  her  in  with  no  worse 
Nemesis  for  her  than  a  half -heard  whimper  as  he  shuffled  back  to 
the  only  light  room  in  the  basement — where,  however,  there  wasn't 
light  enough  to  fine-draw,  even  at  its  best,  at  this  time  of  year. 
But  this  room  was  far  away,  at  the  end  of  Heaven  knows  what 
stone-paved  passages,  and  mysterious  recesses  and  strange  bulk- 
heads with  no  assignable  purpose,  and  at  least  one  black  entry 
unexplored  by  man  from  which  spectres  might  be  anticipated. 
Besides  there  was  always  water  coming  in  and  making  noise  enough 
to  drown  your  voice, — so  Goody  Peppermint  said, — and  if  it  wasn't 
coming  in  the  Company  suffered  frightfully  from  moist  rales  and 
wheezing  in  its  pipes,  which  was  nearly  as  bad.  So  that,  what  with 
one  thing  and  what  with  another,  Hallice  passed  most  of  her  time 
underground.  There  was  the  Infant  School  of  course,  but  Schools 
don't  count.  What  one  would  like,  at  six,  when  one  is  getting 
quite  a  great  girl,  would  be  to  get  out  and  see  the  world.  Espe- 
cially, in  Hallice's  case,  the  great  big  upstairs  room  where  the 
Dancing- School  had  been.  She  had  just  peeped  in  there,  and  seen 
that  there  were  the  remains  of  paintings  on  the  walls,  and  it  seemed 
to  her  a  palace  of  delights.  So,  though  she  was  new,  she  felt  old. 
And  she  felt  older  still  after  the  beer-jug  adventure,  and  at  the 
end  of  three  days  had  quite  made  up  her  mind  the  gentleman  on 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  13 

the  first  floor  would  go,  and  she  would  never  see  him  again.  She 
felt  that  she  and  the  old  house  were  about  the  same  age,  and  that 
one  was  as  forgotten  and  deserted  as  the  other. 

But  Hallice  was,  as  I  have  said,  six,  and  the  house  was  two 
hundred,  or  thereabouts.  Now,  Hallice's  kitten  was  really  young; 
say  five  weeks.  It  was  very  intelligent  for  all  that,  and  could 
sympathise  with  all  her  troubles;  at  least,  with  a  little  interpre- 
tation.   Its  owner  was  very  liberal  on  this  point. 

"To  hear  that  child  a-telling  to  that  cat,"  said  her  mother.  "As 
if  she  was  a  'Eathen,  I  say." 

This  remark  about  Hallice's  profane  commxinications  was  made 
by  the  mother  to  the  father  of  the  latter  while  waiting  for  the  com- 
pletion of  the  cooking  of  a  Finnan  haddock  for  supper.  For  even 
Mr.  Kavanagh  stopped  waxing  thread,  and  sticking  on  trouser-but- 
tons,  and  putting  on  a  patch  very  nearly  of  one  colour,  so  that 
you  could  really  hardly  tell,  when  there  was  any  dinner  or  supper 
going.  Sometimes  there  was  none,  for  all  he  had  given  his  wife 
the  money  for  it.  This  time  there  was  some,  and  Hallice  was 
going  to  be  giv'  some  if  she  was  good. 

"Don't  see  what  harm  it  does  you"  said  Mr.  Kavanagh  in  reply 
to  his  wife.  And  then,  having  found  an  idea  to  harp  upon,  he 
was  able  to  do  so,  and  did  it  in  a  peevish,  complaining  minor  key. 
"You  ain't  bound  to  listen.  You've  got  your  own  business  to  mind, 
I  suppose.  Ain't  there  nothing  else  wants  attending  to?  Suppos- 
ing I  was  to  cut  in  and  listen  to  what  folks  was  saying,  who'd 
do  my  work  for  me?  My  hands  are  full  enough  without  that." 
And  so  on,  until  his  wife  pulled  him  up  abruptly. 

"Now !  I  don't  want  a  jawbation,"  said  the  pleasant  lady.  "Take 
and  eat  your  supper,  and  be  thankful."  But  Mr.  Kavanagh,  to 
his  credit,  before  flying  at  his  food,  made  a  double  motion  of  his 
head  and  thumb  towards  Hallice  and  said,  "The  child " 

"The  child's  plenty  greedy  enough,  without  you!"  This  rejoinder 
came  very  tartly.  But  her  father's  appeal  led  to  Hallice  getting 
her  allowance  of  the  kippered  haddock  while  it  was  hot.  Also  to 
a  fair  share  of  a  new  half -quartern  loaf,  very  black  on  the  under- 
crust;  though  her  mother  scraped  the  salt  butter  over  it  much  too 
thin  for  Alice's  expectations.  If  her  father  hadn't  given  her  some 
oS  of  his  own  slice,  it  wouldn't  have  been  no  butter  at  all  in  the 
manner  of  speaking.  Goody  Peppermint  did  not  contest  the  point. 
She  was  turning  her  attention  to  a  means  at  her  disposal,  afforded 
by  supper,  of  afiirming  indirectly  her  habitual  abstention  from 
spirits,  and  at  the  same  time  resorting  to  them  under  public 
sanction. 


14 .  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

You  know  the  illusion  habitual  tipplers  are  subject  to,  that  each 
appeal  to  the  bottle  is  an  exceptional  occurrence,  and  a  departure 
from  sobriety?  They  admit  the  departure,  but  affirm  the  sobriety. 
Mrs.  Kavanagh's  life  was  made  up  of  such  departures,  and  by 
forgetting  all  the  previous  ones  and  ignoring  all  those  to  come, 
she  honestly  achieved  a  belief  in  her  own  practical  abstention  from 
liquor.  She  really  hardly  left  herself  interims  to  abstain  in. 
There  were,  however,  special  opportunities  that  she  cherished  of 
affirming  her  normal  self-restraint  by  a  parade  of  their  excep- 
tional character.  Breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper  yielded  the  luxury 
of  a  clear  conscience,  coupled  with  the  public  exhibition  of  the 
rum-bottle;  and  as  she  sat  watching  her  husband  correcting  the 
shortcomings  of  Alice's  piece  of  bread-and-butter,  her  mind  was 
gradually  approaching  a  bottle  of  rum  in  the  corner  cupboard, 
whose  door  stood  suggestively  on  the  jar,  almost  within  reach 
of  her  hand. 

To  broach  a  topic  of  this  sort,  you  affect  faintness,  smile  in  a 
sickly  way,  and  sigh  as  one  accustomed  to  conceal  suffering.  By 
doing  so  you  provoke  enquiry,  and  procure  a  fulcrum.  In  re- 
sponse to  her  husband's  "Why  don't  you  take  your  supper  ?"  Goody 
Peppermint,  who  had  done  all  these  things  with  a  view  to  this 
question,  replied,  "No  airpetite!"  She  emphasised  this  by  laying 
her  hand  across  the  outside  of  her  interior,  on  which  her  husband 
began  a  groan,  and  cut  it  off  short  in  the  middle. 

"Get  your  mother  out  the  bottle  out  o'  the  cupboard,  and  let's  'a' 
done  with  it,"  said  he.  He  was  familiar  with  her  treatment  of  this 
subject,  and  resented  its  hypocrisy.  He  knew  the  rum-bottle 
would  come  out  of  that  cupboard  sooner  or  later.  This  time  it 
came  out  sooner,  and  there  was  no  humbugging  round  over  it. 
Then  Goody  Peppermint  felt  better,  and  could  touch  a  little  supper. 
Hallice  felt  no  objection  to  anything  that  produced  family  good- 
humour.  Presently  her  mother  went  back  to  the  pre-prandial 
topic. 

"You  don't  need  to  be  that  tempersome  about  it,  Kairv'nagh,  and 
me  to  be  took  up  sharp  before  the  child.  Cats  is  cats.  And  when 
cats  is  talked  to  about  Princes  and  sim'lar,  a  child's  mother  has 
a  right  to  ask,  and  ask  I  do,  accordin'.  Who  was  it  I  heard  you 
tellin'  about,  child?  Prince  Summun.  You  speak  up  and  tell 
your  father,  afore  I  get  up  and  shake  you." 

"Prince  Spectacles,"  said  Hallice,  timidly.  "Poothy  knows." 
Her  father,  who  at  his  best  had  never  had  a  romantic  turn,  and 
had  now  no  mind  for  anything  outside  piece-work,  and  his 
natural  desire  to  murder  the  persons  who  employed  him  on  it,  did 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  16 

not  rise  to  enquiring  what  Pussy  knew,  but  only  looked  at  his 
daughter  in  a  weak-eyed  manner,  and  said,  "Ho — ho !"  He  seemed 
a  good  deal  more  interested  in  the  haddock  than  in  Prince 
Spectacles,  whoever  he  was,  and  did  not  pursue  the  subject  of  his 
wife's  supper,  or  absence  of  it.  It  had  taken  the  form  of  rum,  and 
adhered  to  it.  Conversation  remained  dormant  until  supper  was 
finished — which  meant  in  this  case  until  everything  on  the  table 
was  eaten,  a  very  different  thing  sometimes  from  the  disappear- 
ance of  inclination  for  more.  Alice's  father  then  turned  down  the 
gas,  which  was  flaring,  and  pulled  out  a  cherry-wood  pipe,  which 
he  cleaned  into  his  plate,  and  subjected  to  perforation  with  a  wire, 
to  make  it  draw.  But  long  as  was  the  pause,  and  much  as  was 
the  rum  her  mother  consumed  in  it,  Alice  knew  the  talk  would  go 
on  from  where  it  had  stopped.  And  in  fact  it  was  resumed  exactly 
as  if  only  a  few  seconds  had  passed. 

"You  don't  jine  in,  seemin'ly,"  said  her  mother.  "Then  Hallice 
can  hardly  be  expected."  The  bottle  was  by  now  beginning  to  tell 
on  Goody  Peppermint,  as  Hallice  saw  by  a  moist  gleam  in  the 
eye  that  rolled  round  towards  her  as  its  owner  drank  her  tea  and 
rum,  or  rather  rum  and  tea;  and  she  anticipated  an  affectionate 
stage,  which  would  have  been  welcome  in  itself  but  for  an  anticipa- 
tion of  other  stages  that  would  probably  follow.  Indeed  had 
Hallice  been  asked  when  she  was  fondest  of  her  mother,  she 
would  probably  have  said  when  she  was  snoring.  There  was 
security  in  her  snore. 

"She'll  tell  her  own  mother.  Won't  she,  ducky?"  This  was 
accompanied  with  an  alluring  smile,  which  Hallice  seemed  shy 
of  rising  to.    "Come  and  tell  Mammy  about  Prince — Prince " 

"She  said  Spectacles,"  said  her  father  briefly.  "It  ain't  a  name." 
Alice  had  been  resolving  to  take  her  parents  into  her  confidence, 
but  this  was  so  unsympathetic  a  way  of  treating  the  subject  that 
she  changed  her  mind  and  retired  into  her  own  soul.  Never  mind! 
She  would  tell  Pussy  all  this  too;  only  let  her  wait  till  mother 
was  asleep,  and  father  at  work. 

"Which  leads  to  suppose,"  said  the  former  to  the  latter,  in  reply 
to  his  comment,  "that  the  first-floor  front  is  the  child's  illusion." 
This  was  a  vaguely  selected  word;  of  serviceable  ambigfuity,  it 
seemed,  for  the  speaker  explained,  "It  illudes  to  Mr.  'Eath,  on 
the  first  floor;  I'll  thank  him  not  to  put  such  ideas  in  the  child's 
'ead.  A-stuffin'  of  her  young  mind  with  a  lot  of  noospaper  non- 
sense !" — 

A  sudden  aggressive  tone,  not  warranted  by  what  had  gone 
before,  belonged  to  the  growing  influence  of  rum. 


16  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

"There's  worse  nonsense  than  Princes,"  said  Mr.  Kavanagh. 
And  Alice  thought  so  too.  But  her  mother,  after  her  very  short 
stage  of  good-humour,  was  feeling  round  towards  a  quarrelsome 
one.  "She's  my  child,  anyhow,  Mr.  K.,"  said  she,  with  abrupt 
hostility  in  her  voice.  It  was  thickening,  for  in  order  to  put  an 
exact  quantity  of  rum  in  her  tea  (in  accordance  with  the  advice 
of  a  doctor,  whom  Alice  had  never  seen),  she  had  poured  too  much 
into  a  tumbler,  to  be  above  the  cuts  and  see  the  quantity  plain, 
and  had  then,  after  supplying  the  tea,  forgotten  herself  and 
swallowed  the  remainder  raw. 

"Never  mind !"  she  had  said,  "a  drop  in  season  is  worth  a  Book's 
ransom." 

Alice's  father,  who,  it  may  be,  was  getting  more  talkative  after 
a  corresponding  allowance  of  beer,  appeared  irritated  at  his  wife's 
claim  to  property  in  Alice.  "I  don't  see  how  you  bring  that  in," 
said  he.  "Who  said  she  wasn't?"  And  Alice  thereon  interpreted 
her  mother's  statement  as  meaning  that  she  was  her  mother's 
child  but  not  her  father's — regarded  as  personal  property  of  course ; 
for  no  other  relation  of  child  to  parent  came  into  her  small  calcu- 
lations. She  ascribed  her  father's  irritation,  and  all  that  followed, 
to  his  resentment  at  being  so  excluded  from  rights  in  herself;  also 
she  was  entirely  in  sympathy  with  him — in  fact,  considered  she  was 
much  more  his  child  than  her  mother's.  But  she  foresaw  there 
would  be  a  bad  evening  about  it ;  for  she  divided  her  evenings  into 
bad  and  good,  and  always  knew  which  was  coming. 

"Who  said  she  wasn't?"  Mr.  Kavanagh  repeated,  with  growing 
asperity  in  his  voice.  And  as  no  one  had  said  that  Alice  was  not 
her  child.  Goody  Peppermint,  who  was  perfectly  ready  for  war, 
and  did  not  care  what  casus  ielli  was  agreed  upon,  sought  for  it 
in  another  quarter. 

"If  they  had  'a'  said  so,  you'd  'a'  sat  still  and  listened  to  'em!" 
No  response  came;  the  pipe  had  to  be  carefully  filled  with  some 
strong  tobacco — Negro-head  or  Cavendish — and  this  absorbed 
attention.  The  woman  kept  silence  till  it  was  being  puffed  at, 
and  then  resumed  the  attack.  She  seemed  to  have  been  laying  in 
ammunition. 

"Sittin'  blinkin'  at  the  fire,  like  a  howl!  And  as  to  raisin'  a 
finger  to  protect  your  own  wife,  not  you !  If  I'd  'a'  married  else- 
where, he'd  'a'  stood  between  me  and  insult."  Her  husband 
was  sucking  in  satisfaction  with  his  first  whiffs,  and  it  produced 
good-humour. 

"Who's  he  ?"  said  he  with  so  much  of  jocularity  in  his  voice  that 
Alice  felt  hope  dawn.     But  alas!     It  only  made  Goody  Pepper- 


ALICE-POR-SHOKT  17 

mint  worse.  Alice  couldn't  for  the  life  of  her  see  why  the  next 
attack  should  be  so  much  more  vigorous.  After  all,  her  father 
had  only  asked  a  reasonable  question.  She  herself  wanted  to 
know  who  "elsewhere"  was.  Her  mother's  reply  came  like  a  sud- 
denly unmasked  battery. 

"Not  a  cowardly  grinnin'  hape,  sitting  sniggerin'  at  the  fire. 
Yes !  /  know  you,  Samuel  Kairv'nagh.  I  knew  you  when  I  mar- 
ried you,  the  worse  the  luck.  And  it's  been  kep'  up  to,  all  along. 
And  thirteen  children  I've  brought  you,  and  any  one  of  them 
(barring  five  dead)  you  might  sit  by  and  hear  your  own  wife  and 
their  mother  put  upon,  and  you  not  have  the  courage  to  so  much 
as  exporstulate !"  This  was  a  lucky  word,  and  saved  an  appear- 
ance of  weakness  from  defective  syntax.  But  the  speaker  lost 
ground  through  its  discovery  gratifying  her  vanity.  She  paused 
to  enjoy  the  rhetorical  triumph,  and  the  pause  called  attention  to 
the  fact  that  it  received  no  reply.  For  Alice's  father  was  pretty 
well  used  to  this  sort  of  thing  at  this  particular  stage  of  his  wife's 
intoxication.  He  had  now  settled  down  to  smoke,  and  intended 
to  smoke.  His  wife  for  her  part  had  determined  to  irritate  him, 
and  the  more  he  said  nothing,  the  more  she  persisted  in  her  efforts. 
It  was  a  trial  of  strength  between  his  patience,  and  her  power  of 
postponing  the  maudlin  stage  which  was  sure  to  come  next.  He 
knew  she  would  reach  it  and  subside  into  stupefaction  if  only  he 
could  hold  out  long  enough.  But  the  enemy  had  got  some  terrible 
repeating  guns;  particularly  the  reiteration  of  his  full  name, 
and  the  allusion  to  his  nervous  affection  of  the  eyes,  no  doubt 
the  result  of  too  much  small  stitching  in  a  bad  light. 

"Ho  yes — Samuel  Kairv'nagh!  You  can  smoke  and  sit  a-blink- 
in'  at  the  fire.  There's  no  amount  of  proarvocation  touches  you, 
Mr.  K.  Nothin'  won't  never  spirit  you  up !  A  poor,  mean,  spirited 
man  from  the  beginnin' !" — 

Alice  had  a  sort  of  hope  at  this  point  that  if  it  was  carried  nem.~ 
con.  her  mother  would  begin  to  die  down.  Her  father  kept  obdu- 
rately silent,  and  the  hope  increased.  But  there  is  no  steadiness 
in  drink,  and  after  a  moment's  concession  to  the  coming  drowsi- 
ness, the  flame  broke  out  afresh;  to  die  altogether  next  time,  said 
Hope.  Besides,  no  doubt  Kavanagh,  though  silent,  grinned  per- 
ceptibly. Absolute  torpidity  gives  no  vantage  ground,  but  a  grin 
was  not  safe.    The  weak  point  was  seized  in  a  moment. 

"Yes — Mr.  K. !  That  was  what  I  said.  A  cowardly  grinnin' 
hape,  not  a  man!  Thankful  I'd  have  been  never  to  come  acrost 
you.  I'd  have  beei^  another  woman.  I  say  nothin'  about  who !  But 
your  brother  Jonathan,  though  one  leg  shorter  than  the  other,  had 


18  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

a  good  'art — and  if  I'd  'a'  married  him,  I  say  it  would  have  been  a 
long  time  before  he'd  set  on  one  side  of  the  fire  and  snigger  at  his 
own  lawful  wife  afore  their  child,  like  a  baboon  would  in  a  men- 
argerie." 

"You  go  to  bed,  Alice.  Hook  it!"  said  her  father.  But 
Alice  hesitated  before  her  mother's  threatening  eye  and  raised 
finger. 

"You  dare  to  go  to  bed  afore  I  tell  you!  You  go  obeying  your 
father  and  disregardin'  your  mother,  and  a  nice  basting  you'll  get 
to-morrow  when  you  come  back  from  school " 

"No,  you  won't;  I'll  see  square.  You  hook  it!"  And  Alice 
hooked  it,  her  hopes  for  the  morrow  resting  on  the  probability  of 
getting  away  to  her  father's  workroom  when  she  came  back  from 
school  at  midday. 

The  gas-lamp  at  the  street  corner  was  bright  enough  to  shine  into 
Alice's  sleeping-den  against  the  front  hairey.  It  was  a  pantry 
imdefined,  that  looked  as  if  it  would  have  liked  to  be  a  cellar,  but 
couldn't  quite  recollect  how.  It  was  close  to  a  rich  preserve  of 
cats ;  a  cul-de-sac  which  must  have  been  contrived  for  their  special 
use  by  the  Architect,  as  no  one  else's  interest  had  been  studied, 
and  indeed  access  was  forbidden  by  a  strong  gateway  placed  arbi- 
trarily across  the  hairey,  and  crowned  with  a  cheval-de-frise  that 
a  sparrow  could  not  have  perched  on  with  comfort.  There  was  on 
the  other  side  a  cellar-door  visible  from  Alice's  window  when 
you  spitted  on  the  bottom  pane  and  rubbed  the  grime  off  with  your 
frock.  And  this  cellar  was  not  the  coal-cellar  nor  the  dust-hole,  nor 
yet  the  wine-cellar  because  that  was  in  the  house,  to  be  dry;  nor 
was  it  in  any  way  reconcilable  with  human  purpose.  It  was  a  sub- 
terranean nameless  horror;  a  place  your  imagination  shrank  from, 
doing  justice  to  in  respect  of  cobwebs  and  fungi.  It  was  an  object 
of  interest  to  Alice  nevertheless,  because  wondering  what  there 
was  in  it  supplied  food  to  fancy,  and  was  an  inexhaustible  re- 
source. Just  think!  It  must  have  been  almost  for  ever  since  it 
was  closed,  and  what  might  not  come  to  light  in  the  way  of  buried 
treasure,  if  it  was  opened  now.  But  then,  of  course,  there  was 
the  other  side  to  the  picture.  Who  could  say  how  many  goblins 
or  hideous  vampires  might  not  be  kept  under  restraint  by  that 
thick-rusted  chain  and  padlock,  which  no  key  could  open;  even 
if  one  could  be  found — and  this  was  impossible  in  the  nature  of 
things.  On  the  whole  it  was  safer  it  should  remain  shut,  and  no 
risks  should  be  run  in  search  of  diamond  carcanets  that  had  got 
overlooked  by  their  owners,  or  secret  passages  communicating  with 
the  cellars  of  the  Bank  of  England.    Alice  was  not  altogether  a 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  19 

stranger  to  Romance  and  its  possibilities  in  this  direction;  for, 
though  she  had  not  read  the  Arabian  Nights,  she  had  had  read  to 
her,  at  the  Sunday  School,  a  beautiful  Tract  called  the  'Buried 
Treasure,'  which  was  fascinating  in  spite  of  the  mean  way  in 
which  its  Moral  was  sprung  on  the  unsuspecting  reader,  and  uti- 
lised for  his  confusion.  There  might  be,  so  Alice  thought  this 
evening  as  she  hung  over  the  window-sill  to  get  a  look  at  the  gas- 
lamp  before  going  to  bed,  some  such  Buried  Treasure  in  that  vault, 
which  would  turn  out  a  substantial  reality;  and  not  a  corrective 
medicine  for  one's  natural  profanity,  the  incurability  of  which  may 
be  said  to  have  been  announced  by  the  label  on  the  bottle. 

Poor  little  Miss  Kavanagh!  She  needed  something  to  dry  her 
eyes  this  evening.  She  couldn't  even  dwell  upon  the  gas-lamp 
and  the  sunny  side  of  the  mysterious  door's  possibilities,  because 
of  the  cold.  So  she  got  to  bed  as  quick  as  ever  she  could — and 
it  really  was  very  quick — to  get  the  advantage  of  all  the  heat  she 
had  brought  away  from  that  beautiful  fire  that  her  parents  were 
still  in  full  enjoyment  of.  If  it  was  possible  to  enjoy  anything 
during  a  heavy  mitraille  of  angry  recrimination  and  reproach! 
For  Alice  could  hear,  all  through  the  time  it  took  to  get  the  bed 
lukewarm  enough  to  go  to  asleep,  an  almost  continuous  current 
of  abuse  from  her  mother,  and  an  occasional  interjection  from  her 
father,  rendered  less  articulate  each  time  by  the  growing  influ- 
ence of  a  whole  quart.  The  storm  rose  and  fell,  and  rose  and  fell, 
for  what  seemed  hours,  and  Alice  lay  and  listened  for  a  lull.  Then 
one  came,  and  the  hiss  and  gurgle  of  a  waterpipe  burst  in  the  frost 
got  the  upper  hand,  and  Alice  thought  a  calm  was  impending.  .  .  . 
Alas ! — not  this  time. 

But  the  bed  was  beginning  to  get  warmer,  and  as  it  warmed 
Alice's  sobs  slowed  down  and  she  went  into  an  uneasy  half -sleep, 
penetrated  by  a  sense  of  her  mother's  volubility  afar,  and  an  in- 
creasing consciousness  of  emphasis  in  her  father's  thickened 
speech.  She  could  not  distinguish  words,  but  was  aware  of  a  cer- 
tain phrase  by  its  accents  in  constant  repetition.  It  was  one  she 
had  before  heard  her  mother  use  to  her  father.  Nine  of  him  went 
to  a  man  it  seemed;  and  she  did  not  understand  it.  But  he 
seemed  to  accept  it  as  having  a  meaning,  and  an  irritating  one. 
Alice  was  in  terror  lest  she  should  hear  a  blow.  For  she  remem- 
bered how  once  he  had  struck  her  mother  when  stung  to  ferocity 
by  this  very  same  unexplained  expression.  To  be  sure  on  that 
occasion  her  mother  had  snapped  her  fingers  close  in  his  face ;  and 
also  being  very  drunk  had  called  him  a  sniffing  fish,  with  an  adjec- 
tive prefixed  which  did  not  seem  to  go  well  with  fishes.    Perhaps 


20  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

she  wouldn't  this  time.  Perhaps  they  would  make  it  up  and  go 
to  bed. 

Sleep  overcame  Alice,  and  the  voices  ceased  or  were  merged  in  a 
dream — a  dream  in  which  there  was  something  that  had  to  be 
grappled  with,  and  Alice  had  to  do  it.  But  the  difficulty  was  that 
no  one  knew  whether  it  had  to  be  stopped,  or  turned  in  another 
direction,  or  cleaned  up,  or  took  off  of  the  hob,  or  read  aloud  to 
the  Teacher  at  Sunday  School  without  being  silly  and  giggling — 
for  no  one  knew  in  the  dream  what  it  was.  All  that  was  certain 
was  that  it  went  on  and  on,  and  was  bad.  And  it  went  on  for 
hours  and  hours,  until  quite  suddenly  (without  changing  its 
nature  in  the  least)  it  became  a  voice  speaking  down  the  area. 
It  was  Alice  that  had  changed,  and  become  a  frightened  little  girl 
sitting  up  in  bed  in  the  dark,  waked  abruptly  by  the  airey-bell, 
which  had  been  pulled  harder  and  rung  louder  than  any  bell  within 
human  experience. 

"What's  all  this  here  row  at  this  time  o'  night?"  said  the  voice 
without.  And  Alice  jumped  out  of  the  bed — it  was  so  nice  and 
warm,  and  such  a  pity  to! — and  pulled  a  rag-stopper  out  of  a 
broken  pane  of  glass  to  answer  through.  And  what  she  said  was 
that  please  it  was  f-father  and  m-mother.  She  almost  always  said 
please.    But  she  could  not  hear  any  row. 

"Well — ^please  you  come  up  and  open  this  here  street  door !" 

Alice  was  too  frightened  to  obey,  not  because  she  heard  her 
parents  quarrelling,  but  because  she  could  hear  no  noise  at  all — 
only  a  cat!  Was  it  a  cat?  No — it  wasn't.  What  was  it?  Was 
it  mother?  A  sort  of  moaning — she  was  afraid  it  was  mother. 
She  was  so  terrified  she  jumi)ed  back  into  bed  again,  and  drove  her 
fingers  tight  into  her  ears.  Then  she  wanted  to  hear  if  the  moan- 
ing was  still  there — or  perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  a  cat.  She  un- 
corked her  ears,  keeping  her  fingers  just  outside,  to  put  back  at  a 
moment's  notice.  But  a  new  voice  came  in  the  street  from  over- 
head, and  she  settled  not  to  put  them  back. 

"Good -evening.  Officer,"  said  Mr.  Heath.  He  had  opened  his 
front  window  and  looked  out.  It  was  only  the  kitchen  windows 
that  were  stuck  to,  or  had  no  sashes.  "Do  I  understand,"  he 
continued,  "that  that  was  a  client  of  yours  shouting  'murder' 
just  now  ?" 

"Can't  say  yet  awhile.  Sir.  It's  in  the  house.  It  'ud  be  as 
well  seen  to.    P'r'aps  you'll  step  down  and  open  the  door  ?" 

Alice  heard  the  first-floor  shut  his  window  down,  while  the 
policeman  slapped  his  gloves  to  keep  warm.  She  was  conscious  that 
one  or  more  passers-by  stopped  from  curiosity,  and  that  the  police- 


ALICE-FOK-SHOET  21 

man  told  at  least  one  enquirer  that  it  warn't  any  concern  of  his. 
One  seemed  offensively  inquisitive,  for  the  policeman  said  to  him, 
"I'd  move  you  on,  young  feller,  if  there  warn't  any  other  job  on 
hand."  Then  she  heard  the  street-door  open,  and  the  policeman 
come  in,  and  then  only  comparison  of  notes  by  outsiders.  They 
accepted  the  account  of  the  first  man  up,  who  knew  no  more  than 
any  one  else  about  the  matter,  that  it  was  a  burglar  in  hidin', 
beyont  the  chimley-stack  on  the  roof,  and  all  crossed  the  way  to 
see  as  much  of  the  capture  as  possible. 

Alice  slipped  out  of  her  den  with  the  silence  of  bare  feet.  She 
slipped  past  the  room  where  she  had  left  her  parents  quarrelling, 
past  the  moaning  unexplained,  past  its  cause  she  dared  not  guess 
at,  and  up  the  kitchen  stairs.  She  passed  the  policeman,  who 
flashed  his  searchlight  on  her  without  comment,  and  went  straight, 
as  to  a  haven  of  protection,  to  the  haijid  of  the  young  artist  who 
followed  him. 

"My  word !"  said  he ;  "it's  poor  little  Miss  Kavanagh.  Come  up 
off  the  cold  stone."  And  Alice  felt  her  small  self  picked  up  by 
a  strong  arm  and  carried  down  behind  the  policeman,  whose  mys- 
terious bull's-eye  light  sent  a  long  ray  ahead  in  search  of  tricks  of 
ground  and  human  ambushes,  if  such  existed.  They  were  approach- 
ing the  moaning.  It  was  not  a  cat.  Alice  could  not  speak.  She 
could  only  hold  tight  to  her  protector.  She  and  Pussy  knew  how 
good  he  was. 

"You  can  look  in  and  report,  Officer,"  said  he ;  "I'll  keep  the  kid 
back  a  minute." 

"Quite  right  you  are.  Sir,"  said  the  policeman,  and  walked 
straight  along  the  passage,  flashing  his  light  as  he  went.  Alice 
turned  quite  sick  with  terror.  Mr.  Heath  put  her  down  on  the 
ground,  and  then,  taking  off  his  loose  smoking-coat,  wrapped  her 
in  it,  and  picked  her  up  again  as  before.  Alice's  father  was  not 
bad  to  her,  like  her  mother,  but  he  did  not  know  how  to  do  this 
sort  of  thing.  Evidently  it  was  an  attribute  of  first-floors  and 
spectacles.    Oh  dear!    How  long  the  policeman  was! 

"Sh — sh — sh — sh — sh !  Miss  Kavanagh  dear.  Don't  you  make  a 
noise.  I  want  to  hear." — And  Alice  made  the  bravest  of  efforts,  and 
choked  back  her  sobs.  Mr.  Heath  listened.  When  would  the 
policeman  come  back  ?  At  last  he  came. — "Drink !"  said  he,  briefly. 
— "I  don't  recommend  taking  the  child  into  the  room,  but  do  as 
you  think."  Mr.  Heath  asked  a  question  under  his  breath.  The 
reply  was:  "Can't  say,  I'm  sure.  Sir.  You  can't  tell  which  is 
drink,  and  which  is  the  effect  of  the  injury — bad  scalp  wound  on 
the  head.    Surgeon  must  have  the  case  at  once.    Perhaps  you'll  be 


22  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

so  good  as  to  remain  here  and  see  the  man  doesn't  go  off.  It's 
a  pity  our  surgeon's  no  nearer." 

"There's  a  surgeon  two  doors  off." 

"I  believe  so,  Sir.  But  I  might  be  exceeding  my  instructions. 
My  Divisional  will  be  round  in  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour " 

"I'll  be  responsible.  Cut  along  to  Dr.  Taylor  at  No.  37,  and  say 
it's  from  me — Mr.  Charles  Heath " 

"Quite  right  you  are  again.  Sir."  And  off  went  the  officer, 
much  relieved. 

"Oh,  you  poor  little  kid,  how  you  do  shake!"  said  Mr.  Heath, 
and  Alice  replied,  as  he  pulled  the  coat  closer  round  her,  "I'm  not 
c-cold,"  and  then  followed  on  with  explanation — "It's  because 
of  m-mother.    May  I  please  go  ?" — 

There  was  a  footstep  behind  them  on  the  stone  stair.  It  was  the 
top  attics ;  that  is  to  say,  Mr.  Jeff.  He  had  on  a  Turkish  fez,  with 
a  tassel ;  and  Alice,  in  all  her  acute  misery,  was  still  able  to  wonder 
why  this  was  right  and  reasonable.  For,  as  he  was  a  grown-up 
gentleman,  and  a  friend  of  Mr.  Heath,  it  never  occurred  to  her 
to  doubt  it.  He  had  come  down,  hearing  an  imbroglio  seething 
below  stairs,  to  see  what  the  matter  was.  Mr.  Heath  managed  to 
tell  him  ever  so  quick,  without  Alice  hearing  exactly  what  was 
said,  and  finished  up  with,  "What  should  you  say  ?" 

Mr.  Jeff  decided  that  a  minute  had  better  be  waited,  while  he 
went  in  and  had  a  look,  himself.  This  showed  Alice  that  it  was 
under  consideration  whether  she  should  be  taken  into  the  room, 
where  the  moaning  went  on  just  the  same.  And  Alice  ascribed  to 
him  mere  curiosity  on  his  own  account,  and  thought  him  selfish. 
In  a  moment  or  two  he  came  back,  looking  pale  in  the  light  of  a 
gas-jet,  at  the  stair-foot,  the  policeman  had  lighted  just  before  he 
left.  He  came  back  shaking  his  head,  all  the  length  of  the  passage. 
He  didn't  speak.    Mr.  Heath  spoke  first. 

"What's  the  man  about  ?"  said  he. 

"Kneeling  down  beside  her.  Seems  in  a  great  taking.  Says 
God  forgive  him,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Did  you  speak  to  him?" 

"I  said  he  should  have  thought  of  all  that  before.  Do  you  think 
the  child  understands  ?"  And  Alice  heard  a  reply  in  a  half -whisper 
which  she  thought  was,  "Don't  let's  frighten  her."  Suddenly  she 
broke  out  and  began  to  struggle  to  get  away  into  the  room. 

"Oh,  poor  father — oh,  poor  father!"  It  came  out  mixed  with 
despairing  sobs.    "Oh,  please.  Sir,  let  me  down  to  go  to  father." 

"Poor  little  Alice-for-short !"  said  Mr.  Heath.  "You  promise 
not  to  be  frightened,  chick,  and  we'll  go  to  father." 


ALICE-rOR-SHORT  23 

'^Please,  I'm  not  frightened,"  said  Alice.  And  Mr.  Jeff  said, 
"P'r'aps  you're  right,  'Eath.  Cut  on!"  and  followed  them  into 
the  kitchen. 

Heath  saw  what  he  had  been  led  to  anticipate.  On  the  ground 
kneeling  was  the  man ;  in  front  of  him  on  her  back  with  her  head 
in  a  pool  of  blood,  the  woman,  known  to  the  two  young  men  as 
Goody  Peppermint.  Once — twice — the  man  stretched  out  his  hand 
and  touched  the  prostrate  mass  before  him.  There  was  no  response 
or  movement.  Was  she  still  moaning?  Even  that  was  doubtful. 
Then  presently  the  man  turned  round  to  the  two  spectators,  and 
said  in  a  collected  voice,  apparently  under  the  impression  that  some 
question  had  been  asked:  "Yes — gentlemen — my  wife."  Neither 
said  a  word.  Then  he  said,  in  exactly  the  same  tone :  "Is  my  little 
girl  there?"  and  Mr.  Heath  said,  "Yes,  Alice  is  here,"  and  let 
Alice  go  down  and  run  to  her  father.  "Ought  she  to  kiss  me?" 
said  he. 

The  two  young  men  glanced  at  each  other.  Heath  caught  the 
drift  of  his  question.  "Why,  God  bless  me,  my  good  fellow,"  said 
he,  "you  haven't  killed  your  wife." 

'TTou  think  not,  Sir?"  said  Kavanagh — not  as  an  enquiry,  but 
as  a  statement  of  fact.  "May  I  go  to  the  bell?"  For  at  this  mo- 
ment the  wire  of  the  street-door  bell  was  heard  trying  to  rouse  it 
to  action,  and  after  a  pause  succeeded  so  effectually  that  it  seemed 
as  if  it  would  never  leave  off,  having  been  started  contrary  to  its 
wishes. 

"It's  the  officer  back,  with  the  surgeon,"  said  Mr.  Heath.  "Just 
you  trickle  upstairs,  Jeff,  and  open  the  door  to  'em." 

And  Mr.  Jeff  departed  to  do  so.  Mr.  Heath's  courageous  voice 
and  odd  phrases  were  a  great  comfort  to  Alice. 

"Your  wife's  all  right,  man  alive!"  said  he.  **Wait  till  the 
doctor's  put  on  a  plaster,  and  she's  had  time  to  get  sober,  and 
she'll  be  as  right  as  a  trivet." 

"That  is  how  it  is,  Sir,"  said  Alice's  father  in  the  same  mechan- 
ical way.  He  left  his  hand  in  Alice's  and  she  felt  how  cold  it  was 
as  she  kissed  it.  "Time  for  her  to  get  sober.  That's  how  it  is." 
Then  he  said,  dropping  his  voice,  "They'll  take  me.  May  I  get 
to  my  room  a  minute — only  just  down  the  passage — afore  they 
come?"  It  seemed  such  a  reasonable  request,  and  after  all  it 
was  addressed  to  a  very  young  man.  One  with  more  experience 
would  have  accompanied  him.  Heath  reflected  that  the  applicant 
could  not  get  out  without  repassing  the  door,  and  decided  that 
he  would  be  safe  enough.  No  other  contingencies  crossed  his 
mind. 


24  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

"You  come  here  to  the  fire.  Miss  Kavanagh,"  said  he,  and  raked 
together  its  remains  for  Alice  to  sit  by. 

Then  a  grisly  dream,  to  be  remembered  for  life,  passed  before 
the  eyes  of  the  frightened  child.  There  seemed  to  be  a  great 
deal  of  policeman  in  the  room;  more  than  was  at  all  necessary, 
Alice  thought.  One  of  them  came  and  drew  water  from  the  boiler 
close  to  her,  and  she  remembered  how  she  had  stood  there  to  turn 
off  the  tap  the  minute  the  kettle  was  full  up,  and  how  that  kettle 
supplied  the  tea  her  mother  put  her  rum  in,  or  put  into  her  rum. 
Meanwhile  the  other  policemen  and  the  doctor  gentleman  who 
came  back  with  them,  carrying  a  leather  case,  got  her  mother  up  on 
a  chair;  and  then  the  latter  got  a  pair  of  scissors  out  of  the  case 
and  began  cutting  her  mother's  hair.  She  did  not  groan  at  any 
rate — only  breathed  heavily;  that  was  good,  so  far!  Then  the 
doctor  began  washing  her  head,  and  then  cut  her  hair  again.  Mr. 
Heath  was  holding  her  head  up. 

"A  little  more  over  this  way,"  said  the  doctor.  "Thank  you 
very  much."  And  went  on  cutting  the  hair.  Alice  looked  away, 
feeling  sick.  When  she  mustered  courage  to  look  round  again, 
she  wondered  what  on  earth  the  doctor  could  be  about.  It  looked 
as  if  he  was  sewing  up  her  mother's  head,  like  father  did  coats 
and  trousers.    Could  she  hear  what  he  was  saying  to  Mr.  Heath  ? 

"Probably  saved  her  life;  that  is,  if  her  life  is  saved,"  said  he; 
"I  can't  say  about  that  just  yet.  But  the  hammer  struck  aslant  and 
the  scalp  gave,  and  took  oif  the  force  of  the  blow.  If  it  had  come 
straight  it  would  have  killed  on  the  spot.  A  little  more  this  way. 
Thank  you  very  much.  That's  how  such  a  great  piece  of  scalp  was 
lying  free."  Of  course  Alice  did  not  understand  most  of  this ;  but 
she  understood  some. 

The  first  policeman  came  back  into  the  kitchen  from  somewhere. 
He  spoke  to  Mr.  Heath. 

"He's  quiet  enough  in  there,"  said  he.  "He  ain't  going  to  make 
a  bolt.  Besides,  there's  nowhere  to  get  out  at.  And  if  there  was, 
there's  one  of  our  men  outside." 

But  he  wasn't  going  to  make  a  bolt. 

Mr.  Heath  looked  very  pale,  and  very  sorry,  thought  Alice.  Mr. 
Jeff  stood  by,  and  was  of  no  use.  But  he  showed  his  good  will 
by  jerks  of  incipient  action,  indicating  readiness  to  help,  and  hav- 
ing his  good  intentions  always  disappointed  by  some  one  else  antici- 
pating him  and  doing  what  was  wanted  instead.  However,  he  got 
an  opportunity  in  time,  as  the  doctor  presently  said,  "I  wonder 
if  it's  come.    This  is  just  finished."    And  he  ran  upstairs  to  see. 

"There's  none  too  much  life  in  her,"  said  the  doctor,  with  his 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  25 

finger  on  her  mother's  pulse.  "But  of  course  she'll  be  better  in  the 
Infirmary  than  here."  And  then  Mr,  Jeff  came  back,  having  gained 
status,  Alice  thought,  by  his  decisive  action  in  running  upstairs  to 
see.  It,  whatever  it  was,  had  come;  and  her  mother  was  to  be 
carried  up  to  it.  She  was  in  the  chair  with  arms,  that  she  used 
to  spend  so  much  of  her  time  in  a  half-drunken  sleep  in  when  at 
home,  and  was  half  held  up  in  it,  half  slipping  down  in  a  bundle 
when  the  doctor  finished  his  mysterious  tailor's  work.  "We  could 
pretty  well  carry  her  up  in  the  chair  as  she  sits,"  said  Mr.  Heath. 
But  it  was  the  suggestion  of  inexperience,  and  the  maturer  view 
of  the  Inspector  of  Police  was  that  we  could  go  one  better  than 
that.  "There's  a  movable  stretcher  in  the  ambulance,"  said  the 
doctor.  And  a  moment  after  something  that  bumped  was  being 
brought  down  the  kitchen  stairs.  Alice  was  getting  very  incapable 
of  distinguishing  things,  and  could  not  quite  make  out  how  it  was 
managed,  but  she  saw  ultimately  that  mother  was  strapped  on  a 
flat  thing  with  handles  like  she  was  took  to  the  station  once  on, 
and  carried  away  upstairs.    Oh,  how  awfully  white  she  looked ! 

''We  must  go  down  now  and  see  to  that  poor  kiddy,"  said  Mr. 
Heath  to  his  friend  when  the  consignment  to  the  interior  of  the 
ambulance  had  been  safely  effected,  and  the  inexplicable  units 
that  always  coagulate  round  a  centre  of  excitement  in  London — 
whatever  the  time  of  night  may  be — were  left  to  discuss  whether 
the  chief  item  of  the  entertainment  was  alive  or  dead.  It  was 
a  very  uncertain  point,  and  the  doctor,  when  asked,  was  eva- 
sive.— "She'll  be  alive  when  she  gets  to  the  Infirmary,"  said 
he.  "You  had  better  see  to  the  child.  I  don't  know  that  I'm 
wanted  any  more.  Good-night!" — and  departed  with  his  case  of 
instruments,  which  he  had  put  up  while  the  stretcher  was  travelling 
upstairs.  "You'll  find  the  child  asleep,"  he  added,  as  he  walked 
away. 

He  paused  a  moment  with  his  latch-key  in  the  lock,  then  with- 
drew it,  and  turned  as  if  to  go  back,  then  stood  indecisive. — "Per- 
haps it  isn't  necessary,"  said  he. — "No,  I  suppose  it's  all  right." — 
And  this  time  he  let  himself  in  and  was  lighting  a  candle  lamp 
to  go  upstairs  with  when  he  heard  feet  running  on  the  pavement 
outside,  and  a  man  shouting.  .  .  . 

That  was  Mr.  Heath's  voice.  What  was  it  he  said — "Stomach- 
pump,  doctor !  Stomach-pimip !" — ^He  shouted  it  before  he  reached 
the  door. 

The  doctor  did  not  wait  to  let  him  in.  Upstairs  he  went,  two 
steps  at  a  time,  and  disregarding  the  "What  is  it,  James?"  of  his 
wife  in  a  dressing  gown  on  the  landing  above,  made  for  a  shelf  in 


26  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

his  consulting  room,  and  fled  with  a  second  leather  case.  All  the 
while  Mr.  Heath  was  knocking  at  the  door  and  pulling  madly  at 
the  night-bell. — "Stomach-pump !"  he  shouted  again  from  the  out- 
side as  he  heard  the  doctor  coming,  and  again  as  he  opened  the 
door,  "Stomach-jpum]^."  The  doctor  showed  the  leather  case,  and 
both  ran.  Mr.  Jeff  had  come  half-way,  as  a  sort  of  connecting  link 
to  lubricate  events — scarcely  with  any  idea  of  showing  the  way 
back. 

But  the  stomach-pump  was  too  late  for  use,  except  as  a  retro- 
spective pump.  For  the  journeyman  tailor  whom  the  two  police- 
men, left  behind,  were  endeavouring  to  rouse — anxiously  enough, 
for  in  fact  they  never  ought  to  have  lost  sight  of  him — ^was  past 
rousing.  "It's  really  only  a  matter  of  form,"  said  the  doctor,  "to 
use  the  pump  in  such  a  case.  However,  we  may  as  well  know  for 
certain  what  poisoned  him." 

"Is  it  perfectly  certain  he's  dead?"  said  Heath. 

"Stone-dead.     Cyanide.    Here's  the  bottle.    Here's  the  glass  he 

drank  from.     Dead  an  hour,  I  should  say.    However "    And 

the  pump  was  called  into  council,  and  supplied  some  particulars  for 
the  Coroner. 

"That  poor  little  kid,  Jeff!"  said  Heath.  "We  must  do  what  we 
can  for  her."  And  they  walked  away  to  the  kitchen,  one  as  pale 
as  the  other. 

Poor  Alice !  Nature  had  asserted  herself,  and  she  was  in  a  deep 
sleep  with  her  head  on  a  stool. 

"We  can't  leave  her  here,"  said  Heath.  "Is  there  no  woman  in 
the  house  ?" 

"Nobody  at  all,  barring  ourselves.  Ground-floor's  vacant.  Sec- 
ond-floor's vacant.  Only  me  in  the  attics.  Third-floor  goes  with 
second-floor " 

"We'd  better  put  her  back  in  her  own  bed,  and  then  talk  about 
it."  Which  was  done,  and  a  police  officer  being  officially  in  charge 
of  the  premises  under  the  circimistances,  Mr.  Heath  left  his 
protegee  with  an  easy  conscience  and  went  to  bed. 

And  Alice  slept,  without  a  dream,  the  intense  sleep  of  overstrung 
nature.  The  noises  of  burst  water-pipes,  the  discord  of  cats,  the 
clamour  of  a  passing  row  outside  disturbed  her  no  more  than  they 
disturbed  the  other  sleeper  in  father's  work-room  at  the  end  of 
the  long  stone  passage.  And  when  Charles  Heath  waked  up  sud- 
denly at  half-past  eight,  and  hurried  on  his  clothes  to  run  down- 
stairs and  see  to  the  child,  she  was  as  sound  asleep  as  ever,  and  it 
seemed  a  pity  to  disturb  her. 


CHAPTER  in 

OF  THE   ANTECEDENTS   OF  ALICE'S  BELONGINGS 

Twenty  years  before  his  mortal  remains  were  left  in  charge 
of  that  impassive  police  officer  in  that  extensive  basement  with 
cellarage,  Samuel  Kavanagh  had  been  as  prosperous  and  hopeful 
a  young  tailor  as  ever  rejoiced  in  a  new  wife  and  a  new  shop  in 
what  was  then  the  suburban  district  of  Camden  Town.  Such  a 
handsome  young  couple  as  he  and  the  former,  when  they  were 
married  at  Trinity  Church  opposite  the  burying  ground,  in  Upper 
Camden  Street,  were  enough  to  make  that  dull  structure  inter- 
esting for  the  moment,  and  even  to  soften  the  heart  of  its  pew- 
opener  into  concession  of  their  right  to  compete  with  bygone  rec- 
ords. While,  as  for  the  latter,  it  went  without  saying  that  there 
never  was  such  a  shop.  In  after  years,  when  Samuel  had  been 
obliged  to  give  up  this  shop  and  hadn't  taken  another  yet-a-while, 
and  when  he  was  working  for  hard  taskmasters  to  keep  his  much 
too  large  family  alive,  his  mind  was  still  able  to  dwell  with  satis- 
faction on  the  beauty  of  the  cataracts  of  superb  trouserings  that 
flowed  in  the  window  to  fascinate  the  passer-by;  of  the  convincing 
twills  that  only  needed  inspection  of  a  corner  for  you  to  see  at 
once  that  they  would  wear,  and  wouldn't  show  dust ;  of  the  numer- 
ous portraits  of  the  same  young  gentleman  of  property,  as  he 
appeared  in  the  whole  of  his  wardrobe,  including  several  uniforms 
and  hunting  and  shooting  costumes;  and  the  masterly  inscription 
over  all  that  declared  that  Kavanagh,  in  Roman  type,  was  a  tailor 
and  professed  trousers  maker,  in  Italian  lettering,  though  whether 
the  last  was  effrontery  or  modesty  was  a  mystery.  All  these  things 
were  so  beautiful  and  so  new,  and  the  paint  smelt  so  fresh,  and 
Samuel  was  so  well  able  to  say  to  himself  that  he  had  got  value 
for  his  money,  that  his  regret  for  what  he  had  lost  never  quite 
destroyed  the  pleasure  he  derived  from  contemplation  of  its  details. 
This  was  not  equally  true  of  his  memory  of  his  young  wife  as  he 
looked  back  on  those  days.  That  would  not  bear  thinking  of  now. 
But  at  that  happy  time  she  was  as  beautiful  and  new  as  the  shop, 
or  more  so. 

The  shop  was  chosen  from  its  proximity  to  the  public-house 

27 


28  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

kept  by  her  father  in  King  Street,  Camden  Town,  from  behind 
the  bar  of  which  her  fascinations  had  entangled  the  affections  of 
the  young  tailor.  It  would  be  unfair  to  Samuel  to  say  that  the 
young  lady's  dot  had  influenced  him;  but,  as  he  was  no  capitalist 
himself,  it  certainly  came  in  very  conveniently,  and  made  it  possi- 
ble to  start  in  business  on  a  much  better  footing  than  any  he  could 
have  achieved  out  of  his  own  resources.  In  other  respects,  the 
match  was  considered  by  gossips  to  be  rather  a  rise  in  life  for  the 
girl,  and  likely  to  withdraw  her  from  her  low  associations.  For 
whereas  Samuel  was  the  great-grandson  of  a  baronet  (illegitimate 
certainly — but  a  baronet  is  a  baronet)  his  wife  had  reg'lar  rose  up 
from  the  dregs  as  you  might  say.  And  it  was  freely  remarked  that 
the  reason  Hannah  would  not  touch  a  drop  herself,  and  wanted  to 
be  Band  of  'Ope  only  her  father  wouldn't  let  her,  was  that  she 
knew  her  mother  died  of  drinking,  and  she  was  afraid  she  would 
do  the  same  if  she  admitted  the  thin  end  of  the  wedge.  No  doubt 
also  her  father  was  not  sorry  she  should  rise  above  a  barmaid. 
So  long  as  the  rest  of  Europe  drank  itself  to  death,  and  paid  sharp, 
he  had  no  wish  that  she  should  follow  her  mother's  example. 
Besides,  young  women  were  not  scarce,  and — only  mind  you!  he 
did  not  say  this  to  Samuel — Hannah  had  a  short  temper.  And 
as  for  his  future  son-in-law,  he  seemed  a  likely  sort  of  young 
fellow,  and  if  he  did  fancy  a  glarst  of  beer  now  and  then,  why 
shouldn't  he  ?  He,  John  Sharman  of  the  Cock  and  Bottle,  was  not 
the  man  to  find  fault  with  him  for  that.  He  wasn't,  certainly! 
In  fact,  all  that  could  be  said  of  Hannah's  extraction  on  both  sides, 
was  that  the  more  thoroughly  she  had  been  extracted  the  better. 
Whereas  on  Samuel's  side  the  reverse  was  the  case,  and  it  was  felt 
that,  in  spite  of  an  education  and  early  associations  little  better 
than  his  wife's,  an  outcrop  of  Baronetcy  might  reach  the  surface 
if  not  in  him,  at  least  in  one  of  his  children. 

But  no  drawback  of  inheritance  showed  itself  in  those  days,  in 
Mrs.  Kavanagh  at  any  rate.  Her  husband  was  what  her  father 
described  him,  and  their  acquaintance  had  begun  in  the  course 
of  a  succession  of  transactions  across  a  metal  counter,  at  intervals 
which  were  now  and  then  at  first,  and  soon  became  very  fre- 
quently. He  explained  to  the  lady  that  he  came  for  her  only,  and 
not  for  half-and-half ;  though  a  construction  of  that  expression  was 
possible  which  might  have  an  application  to  themselves.  And  when 
they  married,  the  liquor-clouds  which  may  be  said  to  have  enveloped 
their  courtship  vanished,  and  left  a  clear  sky  of  voluntary  renun- 
ciation and  respectability.  And  if  you  had  seen  them  at  this 
time,  you  never  could  have  anticipated  the  change  that  was  to 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  29 

come  over  them  when  the  clouds  re-gathered.  Even  a  knowledge 
of  the  possibilities  of  drink  could  hardly  have  foreseen  a  revival 
of  racial  characteristics  so  marked  as  Goody  Peppermint's ;  though 
a  certain  amount  of  degenerate  speech  and  manner,  such  as  her 
husband  showed,  might  have  seemed  possible  and  reasonable. 

If  in  its  first  years  of  prosperity  you  had  been  attracted  by  this 
modest  and  highly-respectable  tailor's  shop  (for  Samuel  had  re- 
sisted the  importunity  of  his  scribe,  who  wished  to  write  Emporium 
and  other  stuck-up  expressions  over  the  door),  and  if  you  had  been 
tempted  by  it  to  entrust  your  legs  to  its  proprietor  that  he  might 
show  the  value  of  his  professions;  and  further,  if,  while  you  were 
being  measured,  the  young  wife  of  that  good-looking  young  tailor 
had  appeared  bearing  in  her  arms  a  very  fine  baby,  probably  you 
would  have  come  away  with  a  pleasant  impression,  and  would  have 
said  that  that  young  man  and  his  young  wife  were  having  a  good 
time.    So  they  were,  but  that  was  twenty  years  ago. 

If  at  some  time  later  on,  having  employed  Kavanagh  ever  since, 
and  recommended  him  to  several  friends,  you  had  gone  to  his  shop 
to  try  on,  because  (for  instance)  as  you  passed  the  shop  every 
day  and  Mr.  Kavanagh*  was  so  busy  there  really  was  no  reason  for 
his  coming  all  the  way  (say)  to  Highgate,  you  might  have  noticed, 
as  you  tried  on,  that  the  earth  was  getting  rapidly  replenished  with 
little  Kavanaghs,  and  that  none  of  these  little  parties  was  more 
than  one  year  older  than  its  successor,  while  some  were  less.  And 
you  would  have  come  away  shaking  your  head,  and  saying  that 
poor  Mrs.  Kavanagh  must  have  her  hands  full,  but  that  she  must 
be  a  good  sort,  to  keep  all  those  children  looking  so  nice.  But  if 
you  saw  her  on  that  visit,  you  would  probably  have  remarked  that 
she  was  looking  worried.  Still,  you  would  have  reflected  that  all 
families  were  cares  and  burdens,  and  that  at  any  rate  Kavanagh 
and  his  wife  seemed  happy  and  contented.  So  they  were,  but  that 
was  (maybe)  fifteen  years  ago. 

At  the  end  of  another  few  years  you  would  have  seen  a  very 
decided  change.  Mrs.  Kavanagh  would  have  begun — more  than 
begun — to  look  like  a  woman  who  must  have  been  good-looking 
once.  Before  she  had  all  that  swarm  of  children,  your  penetration 
would  probably  add.  One  thing  would  have  been  clear — ^that  the 
tailor's  wife  had  lost  all  her  looks,  but  that  she  was  a  nice  respecta- 
ble person  for  all  that;  and  if  she  did  say  a  sharp  word  to  those 
tiresome  children,  what  could  you  expect  with  eight  already  and 
another  very  soon  ?  And  if  asked  why  you  thought  it  necessary  to 
feel  quite  certain  she  did  not  smell  of  spirits,  you  would  have  re- 
ferred this  certainty  to  the  fact  that  she  didn't.    And  you  woul(i 


30  ALICE-rOK-SHORT 

have  been  uncandid  in  doing  so,  because  your  reasons  for  dis- 
cussing- the  point  cannot  have  been  entirely  inside  your  inner  con- 
sciousness, without  suggestion  from  without. 

But  it  was  a  dozen  years  ago,  anyhow.  And  perhaps  it  was  not 
more  than  ten  years  ago  that  you  saw  Mrs.  Kavanagh  again,  and 
were  impelled  to  think  and  say  that  it  was  shocking  to  see  how  that 
dreadful  habit  was  growing  on  Kavanagh's  wife,  and  that  you  had 
always  seen  what  would  happen.  And  this  was  uncandid  too,  for 
you  wouldn't  have,  or  didn't. 

Neither  did  you  predict  then  or  at  any  time  that  in  a  year  or  two 
Kavanagh  would  be  sold  up  at  the  suit  of  a  cloth  merchant.  But 
he  was,  and  then  you  and  many  others  were  found  to  have  concealed 
with  difficulty  your  gloomy  anticipations  of  the  tailor's  future. 
And  when  he  called  upon  you  to  explain  the  temporary  nature  of 
his  embarrassments,  you  felt  it  your  duty  to  dwell  upon  the  evils 
of  drink,  and  their  invariable  consequences.  For  by  that  time  you 
were  in  a  position  to  feel  convinced,  not  only  that  his  wife  was  given 
to  spirits,  but  that  he  himself  was  too  fond  of  beer.  In  fact,  there 
was  too  much  liquor  going  in  that  house,  and  you  were  not  sur- 
prised. 

Not  having  been  surprised  then,  nothing  that  followed  in  the 
next  seven  or  eight  years  can  have  astonished  you  very  much.  An 
intermediate  stage,  in  a  down-hill  course,  a  foreman's  situation  at 
a  first-class  shop,  did  not  last  a  year,  and  would  not  have  lasted 
so  long  if  a  family  of  thirteen  children  had  not  been  regarded 
by  his  employers  as  an  arbitrary  whim  of  Providence;  a  very 
unfair  load,  which  it  was  the  obvious  duty  of  all  kind-hearted  folk 
to  lighten.  And  how  could  you  wonder  at  any  man  for  drinlcing, 
with  a  wife  like  that?  What  can  you  expect  when  the  woman  sets 
the  example?  But  we  (the  first-class  shop  in  question)  couldn't 
stand  this  sort  of  thing,  and  we  had  to  look  out  for  a  new  foreman. 
Of  course  we  could  give  poor  Sam  Kavanagh  plenty  to  do,  and  we 
did.  For  we  were  a  very  good-natured  firm.  And  we  got  places 
for  his  elder  sons  and  daughters — removing  them  from  their 
parents  as  far  as  possible — and  five  of  the  younger  ones  were  so 
kind  as  to  die.  So  that,  by  the  time  Mrs.  Kavanagh  had  taken 
to  coming  drunk  to  our  West  End  establishment  and  threatening 
the  cashier,  and  making  police-removal  necessary,  there  was  only 
the  little  girl  Alice  left.  She  was  then  a  baby  of  two.  And  the 
firm  would  not  have  lost  sight  of  her  at  all,  only  our  own  aifairs 
at  that  time  were  giving  a  great  deal  of  anxiety,  and  the  partner 
died  who  had  known  most  of  the  family.  And  also  we  were  influ- 
enced by  the  fact  that  Kavanagh  obstinately  refused  to  get  rid 


ALICE-rOE-SHOET  31 

of  his  wife,  although  we  were  legally  advised  that  he  might  have 
done  so  if  he  had  chosen.  So  what  could  we  do?  Not  very  much, 
certainly!  And  the  Coroner  at  the  inquest  admitted  this  to  be 
the  case,  when  we  gave  our  account  of  Kavanagh  from  which  the 
above  facts  are  cited. 

The  last  few  years  of  miserable  degringolade  are  easily  imagined. 
Alice  had  scarcely  known  her  parents  in  any  character  other  than 
the  one  they  have  appeared  in,  in  this  story.  Nothing  but  drink — 
unqualified  drink — could  have  brought  about  the  change  in  so  short 
a  time.  There  were  stages  in  the  downward  course  at  the  end, 
as  there  were  at  the  beginning;  but  they  followed  each  other  more 
quickly.  The  last  had  begun  when  the  scraps  of  furniture  and  be- 
longings bought  by  friends  at  the  auction  when  the  shop  was  sold 
up,  and  given  to  the  then  homeless  couple,  were  packed  off  from 
the  lodging  that  was  the  last  fixed  residence  they  had  of  their  own, 
to  go  to  play  its  part  in  the  inauguration  of  their  career  as  care- 
takers. This  trek  was  Alice's  earliest  recollection.  It  was  re- 
sponsible for  an  idea  in  her  small  mind  that  her  parents  had  once 
lived  in  a  palace — a  home  of  privilege  and  delights  now  unknown. 
"Our  shop"  was  known  to  her  only  as  a  tradition  of  former  great- 
ness that  she  was  too  young,  recent,  and  inexperienced  even  to 
presume  to  think  about.  But  she  could  remember,  or  could 
remember  remembering,  when  her  father  and  mother  dwelt  above 
ground;  if  not  exactly  in  a  'ouse  of  their  own,  at  any  rate  in  a 
portion  of  one.  And  it  had  a  real  front  parlour  too,  what  the 
coffin  was  stood  in  when  Alice's  sister  'Arriet  was  buried  that 
died  with  the  fever.  Of  course  it  had;  and  what's  more  she  was 
buried  in  a  carriage  that  came  up  to  the  front  door  and  knocked. 
All  which  Alice  must  have  recollected  quite  plain,  or  she  never 
could  have  said  so  to  Polly  Hawkins  at  Simday  School.  For  she 
was  a  very  truthful  little  girl. 

But  the  departure  of  these  Israelites  into  the  wilderness  of  care- 
taking  occurred  when  she  was  so  small  that  she  now  scarcely  knew 
herself  in  any  other  character  than  a  dweller  in  basements — a  kind 
of  human  rabbit,  travelling  from  burrow  to  burrow.  When  a  move 
was  in  contemplation  the  question  uppermost  in  Alice's  mind  was, 
was  there  a  front  airey,  and  what  were  its  qualities?  Just  as  the 
sons  of  Oifulence  that  hire  a  property  for  the  season  are  anxious 
to  know  what  the  extent  of  the  shooting  is,  and  if  there  is  a  pack 
of  hounds  in  the  neighbourhood — so  Alice  would  timidly  ask  her 
father  (never  her  mother)  about  the  extent  of  this  airey,  and  even 
if  there  was  a  pack  of  cats.  In  the  last  of  their  encampments, 
the  Soho  house  of  our  story,  the  airey  was  of  the  greatest  import- 


32  ALICE-rOK-SHOET 

ance  because  of  the  door  at  the  top  of  the  kitching  stairs  so  you 
couldn't  easy  get  in  and  out.  When  you  could  get  out  on  the  stairs, 
it  didn't  so  much  matter  if  the  rooms  were  locked  up.  Though 
Alice  would  have  felt  far  more  grateful  to  the  proprietors  if  they 
had  left  one  door  unlocked,  and  the  shutters  stood  open.  Still, 
there  was  always  the  great  event  when  people  came  to  see  over 
the  premises,  and  Alice  was  able  to  follow  unobserved.  On  such 
occasions  she  would  be  aghast  at  the  low  opinion  the  investiga- 
tors would  have  of  the  space  available,  the  number  of  rooms,  their 
state  of  repair,  their  ventilation  and  sanitation;  and  would  marvel 
why  they  didn't  go  away  at  once,  especially  as  they  always  treated 
the  rent  with  indignant  derision.  Also  why  her  mother  should 
join  chorus,  when  she  ought  to  have  argued  gently  but  firmly 
against  each  censure,  and  pointed  out  its  fallacy.  Instead  of  this 
she  denounced  the  house  as  a  plague-centre  in  a  region  of  epi- 
demics; a  structure  so  ruinous  as  to  defy  repair  and  call  for 
reconstruction  on  different  lines,  and  preferably  somewhere  else; 
and  a  blot  on  the  character  of  the  metropolis  that  "the  Authori- 
ties" ought  to  condemn  in  the  interest  of  the  pubHc  safety.  It 
never  occurred  to  Alice  that  these  views  were  other  than  philo- 
sophical opinion.  She  did  not  analyse  her  mother's  veracity,  or  any 
of  her  qualities.  She  accepted  her  blindly  and  without  question  as 
an  example  of  a  Mother,  and  perceived  in  every  quality  that  was 
repugnant  to  her  an  essential  feature  in  that  relationship.  So 
far  as  she  noted  that  other  little  girls'  mothers  took  less  rum,  were 
less  incoherent,  less  somnolent,  more  peaceable  than  hers,  she 
decided  that  they  came  short  of  the  correct  standard  of  Motherhood. 
They  were  pleasanter  certainly,  but  were  they  not  poaching  on  the 
domains  of  Fathers?  Were  they  not  non-conformists,  dissenters, 
innovators  on  a  grand  old  tradition? 

She  had  once  been  greatly  puzzled  by  a  conversation  she  over- 
heard between  her  eldest  brother,  a  young  fellow  of  nineteen,  who 
had  been  got  a  very  good  place  over  Pecldiam  way,  in  a  'olesale 
Clothier's,  and  her  father.  The  latter  had  said  to  his  son:  "It 
wasn't  always  like  this,  Fred — not  when  you  was  a  little  chap — 

why,  you  can  recollect ?"     And  the  son  replied  that  he  could 

recollect,  fast  enough.  And  added:  "It's  your  own  fault,  father, 
for  letting  her  have  the  liquor."  And  his  father  had  not  resented 
this,  as  Alice  thought  he  would,  but  had  dropped  his  head  in  his 
hands,  and  she  thought  he  was  crying,  and  went  to  him.  And  on 
that  he  took  her  up  on  his  knee,  and  said :  "Good  girl — good  girl — 
good  little  Alice."  And  then,  turning  to  her  brother,  said:  "I've 
no  fault  to  find  with  you  for  speaking,  my  boy,  but  it's  not  easy, 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  83 

like  you  think."  But  this  had  not  softened  his  son,  who  repeated 
that  it  was  the  liquor,  and  nothing  but  the  liquor,  and  all  that 
was  wanted  was  a  little  decision  and  a  better  example.  And  Alice 
didn't  know  what  a  decision  was,  little  or  big,  and  wondered 
whether  it  was  an  instrument,  or  a  drug,  or  an  animal;  but  inclined 
to  the  first,  on  account  of  scissors.  Her  father's  reply  threw  no 
light  on  this  point.  "You  settle  it  ofi  mighty  easy,"  said  he,  'Tsut 
you're  not  the  first  young  jackanapes  that  ever  was  born."  And 
Alice  wondered  who  was.  And  then  Fred  said  there  was  mother 
coming  and  he  should  cut  it.  With  whom  mother  had  words  in 
the  passage,  and  then  quarrelled  with  her  father  for  setting  her 
own  son  against  her.  So  Alice's  mind  was  left  hazy  about  what 
it  was  her  brother  could  recollect  fast  enough;  she  puzzled  over  it 
for  all  that,  and  would  have  liked  him  to  tell  her.  But  she  knew  it 
was  no  use  to  ask  him.  He  would  only  say  she  was  a  girl,  and  had 
better  shut  up.  His  demeanour  was  always  haughty,  as  it  was 
such  a  very  large  'olesale  Clothier's  he  had  a  place  at.  Alice  con- 
ceived of  that  Clothier  as  a  sort  of  Pope  of  Peckham,  and  her 
brother  Fred  as  a  confidential  Cardinal. 

It  may  be  imagined  that  this  son  and  her  other  brother  "held  off" 
from  their  reprobate  parents  during  the  latter  days — the  days 
when  caretaking  had  been  accepted  as  a  permanent  condition,  and 
the  notion  of  a  domicile  of  any  sort  had  gone  the  way  of  all  dreams. 
Not  that  the  new  shop  that  was  to  replace  the  lost  one  could  be 
said  to  have  ever  been  definitely  given  up  by  Samuel  Kavanagh.  On 
the  contrary  it  always  presented  itself  to  him  as  a  coming  event, 
the  certainty  of  whose  ultimate  existence  justified  a  nomadic  life, 
and  emphasised  its  temporary  character.  During  the  days  that 
followed  on  the  disappearance  of  the  old  shop,  he  would  apologise 
for  every  domestic  shortcoming,  every  chaotic  dereglement,  by 
referring  it  to  the  almost  momentary  nature  of  his  encampment. — 
"We'll  ha'  done  with  all  this  mess,  and  get  some  real  order,"  he 
would  say,  "so  soon  as  I  ever  get  my  new  shop." — And  he  held  on 
to  a  vague  belief  in  it,  even  when  Alice  was  growing  quite  big, 
and  old  enough  to  talk  to. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  the  change  in  twenty  years, — from  the 
prosperous  and  good-looking  young  couple,  in  their  well-filled  and 
orderly  shop,  to  the  very  doubtful  journeyman  tailor  and  his 
drunken  wife,  in  the  basement  of  No.  40, — seems  almost  incredible. 
But  ask  any  physician  of  the  right  experience — I  don't  mean 
ask  him  if  he  ever  knew  of  a  woman  in  Hannah  Kavanagh's  cir- 
cumstances tal<;ing  to  drink  and  going  to  the  Devil — that  would  be 
a  coarse  and  unfeeling  way  of  putting  it — but  just  give  him  full 


34  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

particulars  and  ask  him  if  he  ever  knew  of  a  case  of  Alcoholism  in 
the  like  plight,  and  see  what  he  says.  And  as  for  beeriness — well, 
if  poor  Kavanagh  had  some  tendency  that  way,  it  was  no  great 
wonder.  It  was  a  very  modest  and  unpretentious  achievement 
compared  with  Alcoholism,  but  it  has  its  efficiencies  as  an  agent  of 
the  Devil.  And  the  Coroner  I  have  mentioned  before,  with  the 
whole  of  whose  inquest  the  reader  need  not  be  troubled,  ascribed 
the  blow  that  killed  his  wife  to  the  insobriety  of  Kavanagh,  not  to 
any  bad  disposition  on  his  part.  He  added,  as  his  own  private 
opinion,  that  the  more  beer  a  man  could  take  without  showing  it, 
the  more  liable  he  would  be  to  sudden  outbreaks  of  uncontrollable 
ill-temper,  amounting  to  fury  under  provocation.  And  of  the 
provocation  in  this  case  there  could  be  no  doubt. 


CHAPTEE  IV 

OF  Alice's  ride  in  a  cab  with  the  first-floor,   of  the  first-floor's 

BEAUTIFUL  SISTER,  AND  HER  PARROT 

Mr.  Charles  Heath's  family  resided  in  Hyde  Park  Gardens  and 
were  very  late  for  breakfast.  This  is  all  we  want  to  know  about 
them  for  the  moment ;  which  is,  or  was,  given  accurately,  a  quarter 
past  nine  on  the  morning  following  the  events  of  the  last  chapter 
but  one.  There  was  nothing  singular  in  either  fact,  for  Mr. 
Andrew  Heath,  Charles's  father,  was  a  partner  in  Heath  &  Pol- 
lexfen,  of  London  and  Hong  Kong,  silk  merchants;  and,  besides, 
it  was  a  very  rich  connection.  If  you  know  about  silk  merchants 
and  very  rich  connections,  you  will  see  that  not  only  do  they 
account  for  people  living  in  Hyde  Park  Gardens,  but  for  their 
coming  down  late  for  breakfast,  even  when  breakfast  is  at  nine. 
They  fully  account  for  Charles  Heath  finding  nobody  down  when 
he  arrived  at  nine-thirteen  by  the  hall  clock.  But  not  for  the 
expression  of  dumbfounded  amazement  on  the  face  of  the  young 
woman  who  opened  the  door.  Neither  was  this  due  to  Mr.  Charles 
coming  from  his  Studio  at  that  time  in  the  morning :  that  was  com- 
mon enough.  In  fact,  Mr.  Charles  very  often  went  home  to  break- 
fast. As  he  seldom  got  to  what  he  called  work  before  half -past  ten 
or  eleven,  and  it  was  only  a  twenty-minutes  'bus  journey  from  door 
to  door,  there  did  not  seem  any  reason  (as  has  been  before  hinted) 
why  he  should  not  have  always  slept  and  breakfasted  at  home. 
But  then  he  would  not  have  felt  like  an  Artist.  Art  is  a  vocation 
that  must  be  prosecuted  in  earnest.  It  doesn't  do  to  play  fast  and 
loose  with  it.  The  Artist  has  to  live  with  his  work,  and  throw  his 
whole  soul  into  it.  So  Charles  Heath  had  decided  when  he  adopted 
the  profession;  and  being  supported  by  his  mother  as  to  the 
necessity  for  four  hundred  feet  super  of  studio  and  a  top  light,  he 
had  succeeded  in  getting  subsidised.  For,  the  moment  she  found 
his  father  inclined  to  dispute  it,  on  the  ground  that  the  artist  had 
not  painted  a  single  picture,  much  less  exhibited  one,  she  threw 
her  whole  weight  into  her  son's  side  of  the  scale,  and  other  mem- 
bers of  the  family  followed  her.  Her  husband  gave  way,  but  then 
he  didn't  pretend  to  understand  this  kind  of  thing,  don't  you 

85 


36  ALICE-rOE-SHOKT 

see?  And  of  course  his  wife  and  his  son,  and  all  the  rest  of  his 
family  for  that  matter,  naturally  understood  all  about  it.  People 
understand  the  Fine  Arts  when  they  have  a  firm  conviction  that 
they  do.  If  this  were  not  true  what  would  become  of  Art-Criti- 
cism? However,  it  will  never  do  to  be  led  oS  into  discussion  of 
so  knotty  a  point  while  the  second  housemaid  at  eighty-nine  Hyde 
Park  Gardens  is  waiting  (as  she  is  in  this  history)  to  have  a  fixed 
and  stupefied  glare  of  astonishment  accounted  for.  She  remained 
petrified  until  Mr.  Charles,  having  dismissed  his  cabman,  turned 
to  her  and  asked  if  Miss  Peggy  was  up.  To  which  she  was  able 
to  gasp  that  she  believed  Miss  Peggy  was  up,  but  not  down. 
Further,  she  just  found  voice  to  ask — should  she  run  up  and  tell 
her?  And  Mr.  Charles  he  had  the  face  to  say  to  her — so  she 
reported  afterwards — "Tell  her  what?" 

"And  there  was  that  child  hold  of  his  hand  all  the  while !  Any- 
thing to  come  anigh  Mr.  Charles,  I  never,  Cook!  Nor  yet  you,  I 
lay.  And  then  he  says  to  her,  'You  come  along.  Miss  Kavanagh, 
and  don't  you  be  frightened !' " 

For  Mr.  Charles,  sorely  perplexed  at  the  situation,  and  longing 
to  get  his  poor  little  protegee  out  of  the  ghastly  basement,  with  its 
closed  room  under  police  guardianship,  the  contents  of  which  he 
would  have  to  explain  to  Alice,  and  which  would  either  be  the  scene 
of  an  inquest,  or  give  up  its  tenant  to  one  elsewhere — which,  he 
did  not  know — and  also  longing  to  get  as  soon  as  possible  to  his 
invariable  confidante  and  counsellor,  his  sister  Peggy — Mr.  Charles 
had  decided  on  giving  Alice  as  few  opportunities  of  asking  ques- 
tions as  possible,  and  had  simply  told  her  when  she  waked  that  she 
was  to  get  up  and  come.  Alice's  faith  in  him  had  been  so  great 
that  even  his  "Never  mind  father,  now,"  when  she  put  some  ques- 
tion about  father,  had  been  accepted  as  containing  a  sufficient 
assurance ;  and  as  for  her  mother,  she  was  being  taken  good  care  of, 
and  that  was  plenty,  no  doubt,  for  a  little  girl  to  know.  Little 
girls'  positions  had  been  too  frequently  defined  for  Alice  to  push 
enquiry  on  any  subject  in  the  ease  of  a  reluctant  informant.  So, 
when  told  to  do  so  she  got  up  and  came.  Mr.  Heath  was  on  tenter- 
hooks all  the  while  lest  she  should  demand  explanations,  and  even 
speculated  whether  it  would  not  be  well  to  suggest  that  she  should 
bring  Pussy,  as  being  likely  to  divert  conversation  and  help  through 
the  cab-ride.  But  then  it  crossed  his  mind  that  removal  of  Pussy 
might  suggest  not  coming  back  and  her  inclusion  in  the  party 
might  defeat  its  own  object.  So  he  had  limited  his  precautions  to 
asking  the  policeman  on  guard  to  keep  out  of  the  way,  and  his 
request  was,  so  to  speak,  greedily  complied  with  as  savouring  of 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  37 

schemes  and  secrecy,  and  being  professional.  It  may  be  said  to 
have  given  Zed-one-thousand  passive  employment — something  to 
turn  his  mind  to. 

Alice  having  been  once  told  to  "never  mind  father,  now,"  was 
content  to  wait  for  the  then  when  she  would  be  at  liberty  to  mind 
him;  and  this  all  the  more  readily  because  of  the  glorious  novelty 
of  riding  up  in  a  cab,  on  the  seat,  beside  a  gentleman  who  seemed 
to  have  a  mysterious  power  of  making  Hansoms  gallop.  It  was 
very  funny  this  one  should  go  so  fast,  for  Mr.  Heath  had  only 
mentioned  to  the  driver  that  he  wished  to  get  to  Hyde  Park 
Gardens  before  midnight,  and  he  hoped  the  horse  was  fresh.  And 
the  cabman  had  said  Hyde  Park  Gardens  was  a  long  way,  and 
the  road  was  bad,  but  he  would  try  what  he  could  do,  to  oblige.  So 
Alice  was  astonished  when  they  stopped  in  about  twelve  minutes, 
and  was  told  by  Mr.  Heath  that  there  they  were.  But  then  she 
didn't  understand  the  cynical  tone  of  inversion  in  which  the  con- 
versation had  been  conducted. 

She  had  misgivings  that  she  did  understand  the  expression  of 
Caroline  the  second  housemaid's  face.  She  had  seen  it  on  other 
faces  elsewhere,  and  it  had  led  up  to  monosyllables,  such  as  brat, 
or  chit;  and  when  it  appeared  on  her  mother's  had  preceded  slaps, 
spanks,  or  boxes  on  the  ear.  It  could  not  lead  to  them  here,  because 
had  she  not  a  protector ;  who  would  be  as  good  as  father,  quite,  on 
that  point?  But  she  quailed  a  little  before  the  second  house- 
maid, and  held  on  tighter  than  before  to  Mr.  Charles's  hand. 

"You  come  along.  Miss  Kavanagh,  and  don't  you  be  frightened," 
said  he.  And  they  went  into  the  house.  Oh,  it  was  big!  It  was 
clearly  the  largest  house  in  the  world. 

Mr.  Charles  wasn't  the  least  frightened  himself.  On  the  con- 
trary, Alice  had  the  impression  that  so  far  from  being  afraid  of 
the  gentleman  with  a  tray  whom  they  met  on  the  way,  that  gentle- 
man was  afraid  of  him:  as  he  called  him  Sir  whenever  he  spoke, 
and  she  knew  from  Teacher  at  Sunday  School  that  you  ought  al- 
ways to  say  Sir.  Not  to  every  one  of  course,  but  when  addressing 
Olympus.    This  must  be  a  case  of  Olympus. 

"Nobody  down  now  of  course,  PhiUimore,"  said  Mr.  Charles. 

"Well,  no.  Sir!    At  least  not  at  present "    And  PhiUimore 

coughed  respectfully,  to  apologise  for  presumption  in  seeming  to 
defend  the  Family.  His  defence  seemed  to  be  that  though  nobody 
was  down  now,  at  present,  many  would  be  down  now,  very  soon,  if 
you  would  only  give  them  time.  "I  think  that's  Miss  Margaret's 
door,"  he  continued,  and  his  words  received  a  meaning  they  would 
else  have  lacked,  from  implication  of  sound  noted  afar. 


38  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

"You  toddle  in  there,  Miss  Kavanagh,  Nobody  '11  bite  you." 
And  Alice  toddled  into  a  front  parlour  with  a  pane  of  glass  in  a 
frame  on  the  rug  before  a  beautiful  fire,  and  a  parrot  walking  about 
on  the  ceiling  of  his  cage,  upside  down.  Alice  felt  glad  that 
nobody  would  bite,  but  for  all  that  she  wouldn't  have  trusted  that 
parrot. 

"Minute  anybody  comes,"  said  he,  with  perfect  distinctness,  "he 
stops  talking."  And  then  he  shrieked  worse  than  the  railway,  and 
afterwards  said  it  again.  Alice  suspected  him  of  not  being  in 
earnest,  from  something  in  his  manner.  Then,  she  knew  nothing 
of  parrots. 

A  dress  that  came  down  the  stairs,  and  that  would  have  rustled  if 
it  had  been  silk,  made  a  warm,  soft  sound  instead,  owing  to  its 
material.  It  stopped,  and  whoever  was  in  it  appeared  to  kiss  Mr. 
Charles. 

"What's  the  row?"  said  he.  This  couldn't  be  because  he  was 
kissed,  and  it  wasn't. 

"Why,  just  look  at  you !"  said  a  warm  soft  voice,  like  the  dress — 
only,  for  all  that,  it  filled  the  whole  place  so  that  you  could  hear  it 
quite  plain  when  the  parrot  was  quiet.  He  wasn't  though,  this 
time,  and  said  twice  over:  "The  minute  anybody  comes,  he  stops 
talking,"  and  shrieked  each  time.  So  Alice  didn't  catch  the  rest 
of  the  speech,  but  she  began  loving  Mr.  Charles's  sister  (which  of 
course  it  was)  from  the  sound,  before  ever  she  set  eyes  on  her. 

"You  shut  up  and  I'll  tell  about  it.  Peg,"  said  he.  And  then  he 
dropped  his  voice  down  low,  and  went  on  talking  ever  so  long. 
But  when  his  sister's  exclamations  came  in,  Alice  could  hear  them 
quite  plain — "Oh,  Charley  how  terrible!" — "Oh,  you  good  boy!" — 
"But  is  the  mother  killed? — Tell  me  all  the  ends  first,  that's  a 
dear!"  Then  Mr.  Charles  said  something  she  would  have  heard 
only  for  the  parrot.  Then  came  more  exclamations  at  intervals. 
"In  the  Infirmary?" — "What  was  it — a  hammer?" — and  then  after 
a  good  deal  of  very  earnest  underspeech  from  her  brother — "Oh, 

Charley,  how  awful!     And  he  was  actually  poi "     And  then 

Mr.  Charles  said  hush,  "because  of  her" — and  they  were  quiet  a  few 
seconds.  And  then  the  sister  said  suddenly,  "Poor  little  thing! — 
Where  is  she?" 

"In  here,"  said  Mr.  Charles,  coming  in.  And  oh  how  beautiful 
his  sister  was,  and  how  Alice  did  love  her! 

"Why,  you  poor  little  white,  desolate  baby,"  said  she,  stooping 
to  her  and  kissing  her  cheek,  and  then  put  her  hair  back  off  her 
forehead,  because  it  was  so  rough  and  untidy.  And  Alice  was 
afraid  it  might  be  a  mistake,  and  when  she  saw  quite  plain  she 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  39 

might  find  out,  and  be  sorry  she  had  kissed  her.  But  it  was  all 
right;  and  actually,  she  kissed  her  again.  "Afterwards  will  do," 
said  she,  inexplicably.  And  the  parrot  said  again  as  before, 
"Minute  anybody  comes,  he  stops  talking,"  but  this  time  laughed 
"Ho,  ho,  ho — ho,"  and  ended  with  a  shriek. 

"Isn't  he  a  funny  Polly,  Alice?"  said  Mr.  Charles.  But  before 
she  could  answer,  Polly  said  with  great  force  and  distinctness, 
"Better  cover  him  up  or  we  shall  get  no  peace."  On  which  both 
the  brother  and  sister  said  in  the  same  breath  that  that  was  Mamma 
all  over.  But  Mr.  Charles,  being  told  perhaps  he  had  better  cover 
him  up,  did  so.  And  Alice  could  hear  Polly  talking  to  himself  in 
an  undertone — a  soliloquy  which  seemed  to  contain  pathos,  humour, 
and  expression,  but  no  words.  He  was  a  funny  parrot,  there  was  no 
doubt  of  that! 

"Well — what's  to  be  done,  Peg?"  said  Mr.  Charles  when  Polly 
was  settled. — Alice  was  getting  very  uneasy  about  she  could  not 
exactly  say  what,  and  was  beginning  to  feel  for  speech  with  her 
lips,  when  the  young  lady,  who  of  course  knew  what  was  right, 
struck  in  with  "Suppose  we  were  to  have  some  nice  breakfast 
first,  and  talk  about  it  afterwards."  This  seemed  to  leave  so  many 
openings,  to  deny  so  few  anticipations,  to  be  so  replete  with  lati- 
tudes and  golden  bridges  of  all  sorts,  that  Alice's  judgment  ap- 
plauded the  verdict,  which  came  naturally  to  an  ill-fed  infant. 
Suppose  we  were! 

Practical  politics  of  the  household  dictated  that  on  the  whole 
the  safest  course  would  be  to  call  in  assistance  from  another  sphere. 
"We'd  better  get  Partridge,  and  explain,"  said  Miss  Peggy  Heath. 
And  Partridge  was  got,  was  explained  to  out  of  Alice's  hearing, 
and  was  first  revealed  to  Alice  as  her  young  mistress  had  been,  as 
a  sort  of  Greek  chorus  to  a  narrative  she  wished  she  could  hear 
herself.  There  was  something  in  it  unknown  to  her  that  came  in 
at  the  end,  and  intensified — "My  goodness  me!" — "Well,  now,  I 
declare!"— "Well,  I  never !"— "Only  think !"— into— "Lord,  have 
mercy  on  us!" — and  "Gracious  Heaven!" — And  this  something 
unknown  was  always  told  in  a  dropped  voice  that  she  could  not 
have  heard  in  a  colloquy  outside  the  door  even  if  Mr.  Charles, 
who  remained  in  the  room  with  Alice,  had  not  said,  "Let's  talk 
to  Polly,"  and  taken  Polly's  covering  ofF.  Polly  was  a  great 
egotist,  and  when  he  broached  himself  as  a  topic,  there  was  but 
little  chance  for  anything  else.  He  showed,  however,  a  kind  of 
modesty  in  a  new  remark  he  made  very  frequently,  "Such  a 
noise  you  can't  hear  yourself  speak,"  said  he,  and  then  laughed 
cheerfully.  ^ 


40  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

.  Mrs.  Partridge  was  the  housekeeper,  and  was  a  comfortable 
body — a  great  consolation  and  resource  in  all  kinds  of  difficul- 
ties. Alice  didn't  see  her  way  to  declining  to  breakfast  with  her, 
perceiving  in  the  arrangement  a  recognition  of  the  distinction  be- 
tween breakfasts  and  breakfasts.  She  didn't  feel  quite  sure  how 
she  could  breakfast  with  Olympus,  whether  she  would  know  how 
to  set  about  it.  She  thought  difficulties  might  be  overcome  if  it 
was  only  Mrs.  Partridge. 

And  thus  it  comes  about  that  at  the  end  of  this  chapter  Alice  is 
enjoying  unheard-of  luxuries  in  the  way  of  breakfast  in  the  house- 
keeper's room  at  89  Hyde  Park  Gardens,  but  is  wondering  all  the 
while  what  she  is  going  to  know  about  after.  And  she  does  not 
•  know  it  is  Death,  which  her  experience,  so  far,  has  never  intro- 
duced her  to  in  the  case  of  grown-up  people.  Her  sister  that  was 
buried  had  died,  certainly;  but  then  she  was  a  child,  and  didn't 
know  how  to  take  care  of  herself,  like  father  and  mother.  Also, 
it  was  a  very  long  time  ago  I 


CHAPTEE  V 

OF  THE  first-floor's  FAMILY,  AND  OF  HOW  HIS  MOTHER  SHOULD  HAVE 

BEEN  TOLD 

The  sudden  springing  of  Alice  in  person  on  members  of  the 
family  less  to  be  relied  on  than  his  sister  would  have  been  an 
embarrassment  to  Charles  Heath.  So  her  provisional  disappear- 
ance into  the  housekeeper's  room  was  welcome.  Altogether  things 
had  gone  well  with  him,  so  far.  But  he  began  to  see  into  the 
difficulties  of  the  position.  However,  so  long  as  Peggy  backed  him 
up — that  was  the  chief  point.  If  a  doubt  had  crossed  his  mind  in 
the  cab  about  this,  his  sister's  attitude  about  the  child  had  dis- 
sipated it. 

"Oh,  dear,  Charley!"  said  she,  as  they  began  waiting  for  the 
rest  of  the  family  to  come  to  breakfast,  "what  a  perfectly  awful 
business!  We've  never  had  a  Murder  before.  And  do  you  know, 
now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  don't  know  anybody  that  has." 

"We  mustn't  let  it  make  us  vain.  But,  Peggy  dear,  what's  to 
be  done  with  the  poor  kid  ?" 

"She's  the  same  you  told  us  about  that  broke  the  beer-jug,  and 
had  the  awful  mother?" — The  question  seemed  to  imply  that  there 
might  be  other  quixotisms  afoot  on  Mr.  Charles's  part,  elsewhere. 

"Goody  Peppermint.     That's  what  we  called  her,  JefF  and  I " 

"Oh  yes — Mr.  Jerrythought."  Peggy  seemed  inclined  to  laugh 
at  her  brother's  friend. 

" and  as  for  the  father  (poor  beggar)  he  wasn't  very  much 

better."  This  was  nearly  said  without  the  parenthesis;  but  the 
recollection  of  the  dead  body  in  the  grimy  basement  room,  with, 
on  the  bench  near  it,  the  last  unfinished  job  of  the  tailor  it  had 
been — the  poison-bottle  and  the  whole  horror — shot  across  the 
speaker's  mind,  and  procured  a  passing  acknowledgment. 

"What  can  one  expect  with  a  woman  like  that  ?  At  least,  that's 
what  people  always  say."  Peggy  made  the  meekest  of  protests 
against  vernacular  currencies  of  speech.  "Did  you  find  out  any 
more  about  them  after  the  beer-jug  business  ?" 

"Very  little.  I  had  a  talk  with  the  man  one  day.  As  for  the 
woman,  I  let  her  do  the  Studio  out  because  there  was  no  one  else — 

41 


42  ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 

but  she  was  awful!  Quite  unsteady.  And  the  smell  of  spirits 
enough  to  make  one  sick !  She  told  me  a  great  many  times  that 
she  had  had  thirteen  children " 

"Oh,"  said  Peggy.    "Thirteen!" 

« and  that  she  and  her  husband  had  been  unfortunate,  and 

come  down  in  life.  I  thought  she  was  lying,  and  that  neither  she 
nor  he  could  ever  have  been  respectable  tradespeople.  But  I  sup- 
pose some  of  it  was  true  because  the  man  told  the  same  story." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"Said  they  had  had  a  very  good  shop— a  good  long  while  back — 
in  Camden  Town,  and  that  her  father  had  been  very  well  off — a 
licensed  victualler,  which  I  suppose  is  a  public-house  keeper " 

"I  suppose  so.    Perhaps  that  would  account  for  it." 

"For  what?" 

"For  the  woman  being  such  an  awful  drunken  wretch  as  you 
describe.  Because  it  seems  so  odd  that  any  woman  who  had  been 
the  least  respectable,  or  able  to  read  and  write,  should  slip  down 
to  the  level  of  a  St.  Giles's  drunkard.  However,  I  suppose  drinlc 
is  enough  to  account  for  anything."  Mr.  Charles  seemed  to  accept 
this  with  reservation. 

"There  was  a  good  deal  wanted  accounting  for  in  this  ease,"  he 
said  after  a  pause.  "Because  her  language  didn't  suggest  a  re- 
spectable tradesman's  wife,  drunk  or  sober.  However,  they  told 
me  the  same  tale  at  the  big  Clothier's  shop  where  they  knew  him — 
he  told  me  and  I  asked.  Their  Mr.  Abraham  would  have  done 
anything  to  help  the  man,  and  in  fact  had  got  places  for  his  sons — 
only  it  wasn't  any  use — reaUy  they  were  best  off,  when  they  were 
out  of  cash,  and  couldn't  spend  it  on  drink.  Here's  the  Governor, 
coming  at  last!     I  can  hear  him  humming  on  the  landing." 

Mr.  Charles  was  reclining  in  an  Austrian  bent-wood  chair  on 
one  side  of  the  fire,  with  his  sister's  arms  fitted  round  his  neck  from 
behind  as  she  leaned  on  the  chair-back.  "The  little  thing  seems 
rather  a  poppet,"  said  she.    "Only  so  silent !" 

"You'd  be  silent.  Peg,  if  the  Governor  had  smashed  your 
mother's  head  and  pizoned  himself,  overnight." 

"I  don't  know!  It  might  make  me  loquacious.  But  you're  a 
dear  boy — only  always  doing  mad  things.    There's  the  earthquake." 

The  earthquake  was  the  Governor  coming  downstairs.  His  six- 
teen stone,  or  thereabouts,  didn't  prevent  an  almost  brisk  descent; 
and,  though  slippers  only  were  involved,  it  shook  the  house,  and 
seemed  to  lead  up  naturally  to  acres  of  broadcloth,  pounds  of  gold 
watch-tackle,  old-fashioned  seals  thereon  that  seemed  to  murmur 
responsibility,  and  a  powerful  nose-bridge  made  for  a  powerful 


ALICE-FOK-SHOET  43 

gold-rimmed  double  eyeglass  that  called  aloud  for  a  substantial 
hair-chain  as  a  birthright,  and  would  have  scorned  anjrthing  sleezy. 
It  made  you  think,  as  you  looked  at  it,  of  its  owner's  balance  at  the 
Bank — ^with  its  extra  bit  on  the  left,  the  same  in  both!  This 
weapon,  a  formidable  one  for  use  on  Boards  of  Directors  and 
Committees,  was  in  its  scabbard  as  the  earthquake  entered  the 
room  and  caught  up  the  last  word  of  the  conversation  with  the 
express  view  of  taking  no  notice  of  it.  He  always  did  this,  Peggy 
said,  and  prefixed  it  with  the  word  Hey ! — from  three  to  five  times. 
This  time  it  was  the  latter. 

"Hey — hey !  Hey — ^hey — ^hey ! ! — Always  doing  mad  things  ? — 
Hey! — Who's  been  doing  mad  things?    What's  this  under  here? 

Kidneys,  hm !  hm !    And  poached  eggs.    And Don't  care  for 

any  of  'em !  Phillimore !"  (this  was  the  respectable  man  Alice  saw 
in  the  passage),  "get  me  a  savoury  omelette,  and  tell  cook  to  look 
sharp.  I  can't  wait.  Got  to  be  in  Lothbury  by  five  minutes  to 
eleven."  And  Mr.  Heath  Senior  having  gone  through  an  episode 
of  salutation  from  his  son  and  daughter  (not  without  detection 
of  a  flaw  by  the  latter,  "Shaving-soap,  as  usual.  Pappy  dear"),  be- 
gan his  breakfast  on  a  large  stack  of  letters  that  awaited  him.  Most 
of  these  he  pushed  unread  into  pockets  that  had  a  mysterious 
absorbent  power,  some  he  merely  flung  towards  the  fireplace,  and 
took  no  further  interest  in.  Phillimore  picked  them  up  and  placed 
them  respectfully  on  the  sideboard.  Miss  Ellen  wished  all  circu- 
lars kept,  was  his  explanation.  But  after  elimination  of  super- 
fluities, there  still  remained  letters  enough  to  last  through  break- 
fast, and  Mr.  Heath's  thumb  paused  in  the  envelope  of  the  first 
of  these,  as  soon  as  it  felt  confident  of  its  rip,  in  order  that  its 
owner  might  make  a  remark. 

"Shouldn't  kiss  upside  down.  Peg !  It's  unlucky.  Hey,  what  ? — 
Pour  me  out  my  coffee,  my  child — not  too  much  milk — yes,  large 
lumps.  Where's  all  the  rest  of  them?"  But  he  ripped  up  his 
letter,  and  didn't  wait  for  an  answer  to  the  question.  The  first  part 
of  his  speech  will  be  explained  to  a  shrewd  reader  by  a  reference  to 
particulars  in  the  narrative  at  the  moment  Mr.  Charles  heard  his 
father  on  the  landing.  Miss  Peggy  didn't  know  it  was  unlucky: 
so  she  said. 

"Hey  to  be  sure!  Of  course  it's  unlucky.  Everybody  knows 
that. — Well,  Charley  boy,  how's  the  Fine  Arts?"  And  then  with- 
out waiting  for  an  answer,  "How's  the  Royal  Academy  ? — how's  the 
moist  water-colours  in  tubes? — how's  the  lay -figures? — how's  the 
easels? — ^how's  the  Landscapes  with  Cattle? — how's  the  Portraits 
of  Her  Majesty  walkin'  on  the  slopes?"    But  these  enquiries  were 


44  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

not  questions  in  the  ordinary  sense,  being  only  intended  to  show 
the  disparaging  attitude  of  a  superficial  observer  who  accepted  his 
own  exclusion  from  the  Communion  of  Paints  willingly,  on  the 
score  of  more  important  engagements  in  other  freemasonries. 
They  appeared  to  lay  stress  on  an  implication  that  shallow  infor- 
mation was  its  owner's  choice ;  pre-omniscience  having  decided  that 
enlightenment  would  not  be  worth  having. 

"Well !"  said  Charles.  "The  Landscapes  with  Cattle  haven't  got 
on  much  this  last  day  or  two,  and  the  Portrait  of  Her  Majesty's 
behindhand."  But  if  he  meant  by  this  to  suggest  further  enquiry 
to  his  father,  and  to  provoke  his  interest  in  the  recent  events,  he 
was  mistaken.  For  the  latter  only  said  three  times:  "Her — 
Majesty!  Her — Majesty!  Her — ^Majesty!"  And  then  added 
reflectively:  "Ah — well!  We're  all  very  fine  people.  Aren't  we, 
Pussy-Cat  ?"  So  Charles  got  no  chance  that  time  of  disburdening 
himself  of  his  secret. 

Then  followed  an  irruption  of  the  remainder  of  the  family,  every 
one  of  whom  insolently  included  his  predecessors  in  a  remark 
which  each  made  on  coming  in — "I  say,  how  awfully  late  we  are !" 
The  only  exception  was  Miss  Ellen,  the  youngest,  who  said  instead, 
**Are  the  advertisements  kept?  Are  you  quite  sure  these  are  all, 
Phillimore?  Yes — Mamma's  coming  down.  Pll  have  tea  and  put 
the  sugar  in  myself." — If  you  think  a  minute  you  will  probably 
recollect  having  heard  equally  fragmentary  conversation  from 
young  ladies  even  more  than  thirteen  years  old. 

A  certain  enthusiasm  about  breakfast,  and  an  indisposition  of 
the  breakers  to  be  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  decide  what  form  it  was 
to  take,  combined  with  reviews  on  the  part  of  each  of  all  the 
courses  open  to  them,  made  the  introduction  of  Charles  and 
Peggy's  denouement  difficult.  Besides,  the  younger  members  of 
the  family  and  the  Governess,  Miss  Petherington,  had  been  at  the 
play  last  night,  and  a  fierce  discussion  ensued  about  the  heroine. 
However,  there  was  Mamma  coming  down.  An  opening  was  sure 
to  occur  now  for  the  natural  introduction  of  Alice. 

Were  you  ever  in  a  situation  in  which,  while  you  wished  par- 
ticularly to  speak  of  something  that  interested  you  greatly,  you 
were  made  to  feel  the  full  force  of  other  people's  preoccupation? 
Charles  Heath  almost  wished  he  had  come  seldomer  to  breakfast 
with  his  family.  If  he  had  been  a  rarer  occurrence  some  one  would 
have  been  sure  to  say,  "What  brings  you  here  this  time?"  It  had 
been  so  easy  to  give  the  whole  story  to  Peggy  on  the  stairs,  and 
to  secure  her  immediate  sympathy,  but  how  on  earth  to  set  about 
it  now?     What  could  be  done,  with  his  father  well  behind  the 


ALICE-FOK-SHOKT  45 

Times  newspaper,  buried  in  the  Money  Column,  and  only  making 
concessions  to  slight  recrudescences  of  breakfast,  such  as,  "Only 
half  a  cup,  mind!  And  not  too  much  sugar";  and  all  this  while 
the  fast  and  furious  discussion  of  Cannibalism,  on  which  the 
interest  of  the  Problem  Play  of  the  evening  before  had  turned. 

However,  the  majestic  rustle  of  an  approaching  Mamma  cli- 
maxed, and  Charles  felt,  as  he  kissed  her,  and  she  said,  "Why, 
Charles  I    When  did  you  come  ?"  that  Hope  was  on  the  horizon. 

"But  I  do  not  see" — ^this  with  denunciatory  emphasis  from  Ellen 
the  youngest — "I  do  not  see,  and  I  never  shall  see,  why  a  Cannibal 
should  not  marry  his  Deceased  Wife's  Sister  provided  he  hasn't 
eaten  his  first  wife."  For  no  less  difficult  and  intricate  a  question 
than  this  had  arisen  from  the  discussion  of  the  previous  evening's 
entertainment. 

"My  dear  Ellen,"  says  her  mother,  in  tones  of  dignified  reproach, 
"what  is  all  this  noise?" 

"Well,  Mamma,  it's  all  very  well,  but " 

But  her  mother  threw  so  decided  a  tone  of  moral  influence  into 
her  next  "My  dear!"  that  Ellen  subsided.  She  left  an  impression 
on  her  brother's  mind  that  she  recorded  somehow  that  there  was  a 
row  if  she  so  much  as  spoke.  It  may  have  been  said  sotto-voce. 
A  lull  ensued,  and  Charles  began  to  see  his  way  to  possibilities. 

"There's  been  a  very  bad  job  down  at  the  Studio "  he  began. 

But  he  got  no  further. 

"One  moment,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother.  "Ill  hear  you  di- 
rectly.   I  am  obliged  to  speak  to  Phillimore." 

But  before  Phillimore  could  be  assuaged,  Mr.  Heath  Senior  sud- 
denly decided  that  he  had  now  seen  the  Times  this  morning,  and 
need  see  them  no  more.  So  he  folded  his  newspaper  with  a  mighty 
rustling  on  to  the  top  of  a  cold  tongue,  and  looked  resolutely  at 
his  watch.  But  even  as  he  kept  his  eye  firmly  fixed  on  it,  as 
though  he  suspected  it  of  meaning  to  go  wrong  at  that  particular 
moment,  he  showed  that  he  had  been  keeping  his  eye  also  on  the 
conversation,  with  a  view  to  ignoring  it  in  detail  later  on. 

"Hey?"  said  he.  "What's  it-all-about ?  Why-y-y-y  shouldn't  a 
Cannibal  marry  his  Deceased  Wife's  Sister?" 

"Provided  he  hasn't  eaten  his  first  wife,"  cuts  in  Ellen. — "Now 
do  say  I'm  right.  Papa!" 

"Why-y-y  shouldn't  a  Cannibal  marry  his  Deceased  Wife's  Sis- 
ter? Provided  he  hasn't  eaten  his  first  wife.  Hey?  That's  it,  is 
it?  Why-y  shouldn't  ..."  And  so  on  da  capo,  with  an  air  of 
judicial  weight.  And  Ellen  made  helpless  appeal  to  the  Public. 
"Oh  dear!     Isn't  Papa  aggravating?"     Which  he  certainly  was. 


46  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

And  none  the  less  so  because  he  continued  to  keep  his  eye  fixed  on 
his  watch,  as  the  lion-tamer  on  a  possibly  rebellious  lion.  It  was  a 
gold  hunting-watch  with  a  lid,  and  as  soon  as  its  owner  consid- 
ered it  would  go  along  safely,  he  shut  this  down  with  a  snap.  "I 
must  be  off"  said  he,  with  the  trenchant  decision  of  one  who  has 
made  up  his  mind.  But  he  was  intercepted  and  outflanked  at  the 
door. 

"I  only  want  just  one  word  with  you  before  you  go,  my  dear," 
said  his  wife,  meekly.  Mrs.  Heath's  deadliest  weapons  were  meek- 
ness and  patience.  She  wielded  them  with  diabolical  dexterity; 
"and  showed,  in  advance  and  retreat,  the  activity  of  a  Cossack. 
Her  husband  made  a  weak  protest  on  this  occasion;  but  the  fact 
that  Mrs.  Heath  should  have  spoken  before  seemed  a  mere  moral 
maxim  when  confronted  with  the  practical  truth  that  she  could 
not  make  herself  heard,  backed  by  a  certain  assumption  of  failure 
of  voice  after  stentorian  efforts.     "I  cannot  get  quiet,"  said  the 

good  lady.    "And  I  get  no  help "     Mr.  Heath  knew  perfectly 

well  when  his  wife's  manner  portended  heart-failure;  so  he  sur- 
rendered at  discretion.  Especially  as  an  attempt  on  his  part  to 
get  the  communication  made  under  pressure,  by  hinting  that  she 
must  look  alive,  as  the  City  was  yawning  for  him,  ended  in  her 
taking  a  chair  to  draw  breath  on. 

"Very  well  now,  that's  enough !"  was  Mr.  Heath  Senior's  final  con- 
clusion as  he  escaped  after  the  just  one  word  had  spun  out  to  a 
hundred,  or  even  a  thousand.  Charles  Heath  and  his  sister  ex- 
changed looks,  to  the  effect  that  communications  to  that  quarter  must 
stand  over.  However,  the  more  important  parent,  the  really  influ- 
ential executive,  remained.  She  re-entered  the  breakfast  scene  with 
the  comment,  "I  always  know  it's  that,  when  your  father's  atten- 
tion goes  wandering  and  I  can't  get  him  to  listen  for  one  moment." 

"Always  know  it's  what.  Mammy  dear?"  asked  her  son.  And 
she  replied,  briefly,  "Liver."  Charles  thought  he  had  got  his 
opportunity. 

"I've  been  wanting  to  tell  you  about  this  awful  business  last 
night  at  the  Studio " 

"Another  time,  my  dear  Charles.  Because  that  can  wait.  I 
must  write  now  to  Lady  Wycherly  Watkins  to  say  your  father  can't 
make  it  the  twenty-fourth.  And  it's  the  second  time  we've  put 
them  off.  And  you  can  see  what  difficulties  I  have  with  your 
father."  A  murmur  that  followed  gave  Charles  the  impression  that 
his  mother  had  said,  "Four  grains  of  Blue  Pill,"  in  apposition  to 
nothing  whatever.  He  suggested  that  Peggy  could  write  to  Lady 
vWycherly  Watkins,  and  Peggy  said,  "Of  course  I  can.    It's  only 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  47 

to  say  you  can't  go  on  the  twenty-fourth — 1  know "    But  her 

mother  dropped  her  hands  on  her  lap  with  patient  despair.  "My 
dear !"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  harmonised  with  the  action,  "oh,  if 
you  would  only  be  quiet  one  moment  and  let  me  arrange. — It's 
always  hurry,  hurry,  hurry!"  After  suggestions  of  amended  style 
Peggy  adjourned  to  write  the  letter,  followed  by  her  mother's 
meekly  triumphant  "You  see  I  can  perfectly  well  arrange,  if  you'll 
only  let  me."  Then  Charles,  being  also  encouraged  by  a  lull  in 
breakfast,  which  though  reinforced  by  very  late  stragglers  was  now 
drawing  to  a  close,  thought  he  would  try  again : 

"I  really  should  like.  Mother  dear,  to  tell  you  about  this  dreadful 
affair  at  the  Studio.  You  know  those  two  people  who  were  care- 
taking  at  the  bottom  of  the  house — who  had  the  little  girl  that 
broke  the  jug ?" 

"Yes — my  dear  Charles.    Go  on — I'm  listening.    I  can  do  this 

too,  while  I  listen.    Little  girl  that  broke  the  jug "    And  Mrs. 

Heath  marks  off  items  in  a  list,  and  now  and  then  murmurs  to 
herself,  "Yes— that's  right."  "No— that  ought  to  be  a  six."  "I 
must  ask  Partridge  about  the  pillow-cases" — and  so  on. 

"They  seem  to  have  had  a  drunken  quarrel,  and  the  man  struck 
his  wife  on  her  head  with  a  big  hammer  that  had  been  used  to 

break  the  coal  with "    But  Charles's  method  was  not  dexterous. 

He  should  have  said,  "I  want  to  tell  you  about  the  murder  and 
suicide  last  night,"  and  then  he  might  have  procured  a  hearing. 
As  it  was,  his  mother  crossed  the  current  of  his  story  with  a  demand 
for  Phillimore,  whose  "Yes,  Madam,"  in  response,  was  met  with, 
"No,  it's  nothing!  I  can  do,"  followed  by,  "Yes,  my  dear,  I  heard 
you : — Big  hammer  that  was  used  to  break  the  coal  with. — What  is 
it.  Partridge?"  For  Partridge  was  engineering  approaches  in  a 
tentative  way. 

"All  right.  Mother !"  said  Charles,  hauling  down  his  flag.  "It'll 
do  another  time  just  as  well!"  And  his  mother  replied  with. resig- 
nation, "Well — perhaps  it  would  be  better,  my  dear.  Presently. 
Yes,  Partridge?" — And  Charles  departed  to  capture  his  sister,  that 
they  might  go  together  to  have  a  look  at  Alice,  whom  this  history 
supposes  at  this  moment  to  have  been  continually  eating  breakfast 
in  Mrs.  Partridge's  room. 

Partridge,  the  gag  being  removed,  says  she  "wished  to  speak 
about  the  little  girl."  And  then  repeats,  "The  little  girl,  Ma'am." 
"What  little  girl.  Partridge?"  asked  her  mistress. 

"Mr.  Charles's  little  girl,  Ma'am." — This  is  in  an  of-course-you- 
know  kind  of  voice — and  Partridge  went  on — "I  thought.  Ma'am,  I 
ought  to  mention  to  you  that  the  child  seems  far  from  well,  and 


48  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

has  eaten  almost  nothing.     Not  that  I  suppose  it  to  he  anything 

infectious — ^but  even  measles "    Partridge  interrupted  herself  to 

say,  "However,  I  have  not  allowed  any  one  else  in  the  room.  I 
thought  you  would  wish  it."  And  then  hesitates,  in  growing  doubt, 
at  an  expression  in  Mrs.  Heath's  face,  which  increases  as  its  pro- 
prietor sits  more  and  more  majestically  upright. 

"Pray    explain.    Partridge!      Mr. — Charles's — ^little — ^girl " 

The  last  four  words  come  in  instalments,  with  an  accent  on  the 
first  syllables  of  the  first  three. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  Ma'am,  I  thought  you  knew."  And  then 
Mrs.  Partridge,  being  a  shrewd  woman,  perceives  that  the  first 
essential  of  her  own  position  is  that  the  little  girl  shall  be  talked 
about  between  her  mistress  and  herself,  with  a  view  to  a  sound  foot- 
ing of  confidence  in  which  even  a  temporary  ostracism  of  Mr. 
Charles  or  Miss  Heath  might  be  warrantable,  for  purposes  of  sta- 
bility. So  she  forthwith  gives  all  particulars  of  the  case  as  known 
to  herself;  and  they  are  listened  to  with  an  expression  of  mute 
self-command,  righteously  dumbfounded,  but  reserving  severe 
comment  for  judicial  maturity.  When  Partridge  has  waded 
through  her  prose  epic — which  she  prolongs  as  much  as  possible 
from  the  feeling  (shared  by  almost  all  of  us,  perhaps)  that  any 
circumstantial  narrative  of  events  apologises  for  the  share  we 
have  had  in  them — she  is  still  conscious  of  not  having  quite  suc- 
ceeded in  reaching  a  sound  footing,  and  adds  after  a  moment's 
silence — "I  should  have  come  at  once  to  you,  Ma'am,  only  I  sup- 
posed  ''  and  stops. 

"I  am  not  surprised  that  you  should  not  have  told  me.  Part- 
ridge. But  I  am  surprised  that  I  was  not  told — I  ought  to  have 
been  told." 

And  Mrs,  Heath  entrenches  herself  in  a  dignified  reserve,  which 

elicits  a  hesitating  "Pm  sure.  Ma'am "  from  Partridge;  who, 

however,  not  having  quite  made  up  her  mind  what  she  was  sure  of, 
was  not  very  sorry  to  have  her  speech  amputated. 

"I  am  not  attaching  any  blame  to  you.  Partridge,  in  any  sense — 
but  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  have  been  told." 

Whereupon  Partridge  coughs  expressively  and  sympathetically 
behind  her  hand.  She  endeavours  to  make  this  cough  say,  "I  feel 
that  your  son  and  daughter  do  not  recognise  to  the  full  your  posi- 
tion in  the  house,  nor  the  weight  of  cares  and  responsibilities  that 
beset  you,  nor  the  administrative  skill  of  your  domestic  economy; 
but  I  perceive  that  they  are  guileless,  owing  to  the  purity  of  their 
extraction;  and  while  willingly  admitting  that  you  ought  to  have 
been  told,  venture  to  hope  that  a  modus  vivendi  may  be  discover- 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  49 

able,  and  above  all  that  I  may  be  recognised  as  blameless,  and 
remain  always  your  obedient  humble  servant."  Perhaps  she 
hardly  succeeds  in  making  the  cough  say  all  that,  but  she  feels  it 
was  a  good  and  useful  cough,  as  far  as  it  went. 

And  her  mistress  gathers  up  some  debris  connected  with  respon- 
sibilities, and  goes  majestically  upstairs. 


CHAPTER  VI 

OF  H6W  ALICE  COULD  NOT  GO  BACK  TO  FATHER,  AND  WHY.  OF  HOW  THE 
DOCTOR  CAME  TO  ALICE,  AND  ALICE  DIDN't  GO  TO  AN  INQUEST.  AND 
OF  HOW  IT  CAME  TO  PASS  THAT  ALICE  WAS  NOT  TO  GO  BACK  TO 
MOTHER 

**Well,  Charley,"  said  his  sister  when  he  arrived  in  the  back 
drawing-room  to  look  for  her,  "I  hope  you've  got  Mamma  told?"— 
But  Charley  shook  his  head  ruefully.  And  Peggy  continued: 
"Then,  as  soon  as  I  have  finished  Lady  Wycherly  Watkins,  we 
had  better  go  down  and  see  after  Miss  Alice— she'll  be  getting 
alarmed,  and  think  we've  deserted  her." 

Lady  Wycherly  Watkins's  letter  will  go  by  post  of  its  own  accord, 
as  propitiatory  offerings  to  brownies  vanish  in  the  night  when  no 
one  is  looking.  So  it  is  left  to  itself,  and  Charles  follows  Peggy 
downstairs. 

When  the  brother  and  sister  arrived  in  Mrs.  Partridge's  room,  they 
found  Alice  close  to  the  door  as  they  entered,  probably  because  Mrs. 
Partridge  had  gone  out  at  it,  rather  than  with  any  idea  of  going 
out  herself.  She  was  very  unsettled  and  could  not  be  comfortable 
anywhere,  so  the  exit  of  her  last  protector  seemed  as  good  as  the 
hearth-rug,  in  spite  of  the  warmth  of  the  fire.  When  she  saw  who 
it  was,  she  made  for  Charles's  hand  first,  and  then  for  Peggy's. 
But  she  didn't  find  her  tongue. 

"What  a  funny  little  old-fashioned  thing  she  is,  Charley,"  said 
his  sister.  ^'She  never  speaks,  but  she  looks  intelligent.  Kiss  me, 
Alice  dear;  that's  right.  She's  a  soft  little  puss,  but  she  might 
be  thicker." 

"You  can  talk  fast  enough,  Alice-f or-short,  can't  you  ?"  suggested 
Charles.  He  was  conscious  that  he  should  like  his  protegee  to 
justify  him.  The  only  apologies  he  could  find  for  himself  all 
turned  on  the  fact  (or  the  assumption)  that  no  other  course  was 
open  to  him.  So  vivacity  on  Alice's  part  would  not  have  been 
unwelcome. 

"What's  that  the  little  chick  says?  Say  it  again,  Alice-for- 
short?" — And  both  brother  and  sister  stooped  down  to  hear. 
Peggy's  arm  had  gone  back  round  Charles's  neck  after  being  used  to 
kiss  Alice — "Say  it  again,  dear,"  said  she. 

60 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  51 

'^Mustn't  I  go  back  to  father?" 

Charles  was  beginning  to  embark  on  some  vague  course  of  eva- 
sion, with — "Not  just  yet,  Alice  dear" — when  his  sister,  seeing  with 
clearer  vision  the  many  rocks  ahead,  stopped  him. — "You'll  only 
make  matters  worse,  Charley  darling,"  she  said.  And  then  added, 
"I  can  do  it  best  alone  if  you  go.  But  he'll  come  back  again, 
Alice  dear.  Don't  be  frightened!" — For  Alice  had  shuddered 
tighter  on  to  the  hand  she  held.  She  wasn't — couldn't  be — fright- 
ened of  being  left  alone  with  the  beautiful  sister  with  the  soft 
golden  hair  and  all  her  warmth  and  light;  but  then  the  gentle- 
man in  spectacles  was  her  original  protector,  and  her  connecting 
link  with  father.  But  if  he  was  coming  back,  that  was  all  right, 
and  of  course  the  lady  knew. — "You'll  come  and  sit  on  my  knee  by 
the  fire  till  he  comes  back,  won't  you,  Alice?  What's  that,  dear?" 
And  then  the  lady  stooped  down  again  to  get  at  Alice's  remark. — 
"You're  too  big  ?  No,  dear !  You're  not  a  bit  too  big.  Cut  along, 
Charley.  Come  back  as  soon  as  you  think." — ^Which  appeared 
to  be  intelligible,  as  Charley  accepted  it  and  cut  along. 

Alice  wasn't  too  big  by  any  means — in  fact  when  her  mother 
had' once  called  her  a  great  hulking  girl  of  six,  she  was  only  cor- 
rect about  the  nimieral.  The  lady  didn't  seem  to  find  any  diffi- 
culty about  taking  her  on  her  knee — in  fact  her  action  seemed  to 
Alice  to  suggest  her  kinship  with  the  strong  arm  that  had  picked 
her  up  off  the  cold  stones — only  last  night,  and  it  did  seem  such  a 
long  time !  When  she  had  Alice  on  her  knee  she  felt  her  forehead 
and  her  hands,  and  then  said :  "My  child — I'm  afraid  you're  fever- 
ish."— As  Alice  didn't  know  what  this  meant,  she  didn't  feel 
responsible. 

"When  must  I  go  back  to  father  ?"  said  she. 

"You  cant  go  back  to  father,  Alice  dear,"  said  the  lady,  with  a 
change  of  manner.  Alice  knew  it  was  something  new  and  strange, 
but  the  words  did  not  carry  their  meaning.  The  only  plausible 
explanations  were  that  the  road  was  stopped,  or  that  the  way  would 
be  too  difficult  to  find  by  herself  and  no  one  could  come  with  her. 
Her  little  hot  hands  pulled  uneasily  at  the  hand  they  held,  and  she 
tried  to  prosecute  enquiry,  wondering  all  the  while  why  the  lady's 
eyes  were  fixed  on  her  so  pityingly,  and  surely — yes !  she  was  sure  of 
it — the  lady  was  crying. 

"Mustn't  the  gentleman  with  spectacles  take  me  back  to  father  ?" 

"Mustn't  the  gentleman  tate  you  back?"  said  Peggy,  imitating 
her  childish  accent. — "No — dear  child!  The  gentleman  can't  take 
you  back.  Listen,  dear  Alice,  and  I'll  tell  you.  If  the  gentleman 
took  you  back,  you  wouldn't  find  father." 


62  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

"Have  they  took  father  away  to  the  station  ?" 

"No — dear — no !  Father's  not  gone  to  the  stytion," — echoing  her 
accent  again.  And  a  variety  of  difficulties  presented  themselves 
to  Peggy.  Going  to  Heaven  was  obviously  the  standard  resource. 
But  it  was  perhaps  presumptuous  to  vouch  for  it.  Then,  a  weak- 
kneed  testimony  would  introduce  discussion  of  another  place  that 
he  might  have  gone  to.  Without  Purgatory  to  make  matters  easy, 
it  would  be  much  safer  to  shut  the  door  on  the  lion  of  Hell-fire  than 
to  let  him  in  to  see  if  we  could  turn  him  out  again.  It  was  no 
use;  Peggy  saw  that  in  the  end  she  would  have  either  to  give  her 
personal  voucher  for  Mr.  Kavanagh's  salvation,  or  to  fall  back 
on  plain  death,  with  extinction.  She  could  not  look  a  live  child  in 
the  face  and  affirm  the  latter,  which  even  a  person  who  knows 
absolutely  nothing  about  the  matter  hesitates  to  swear  to. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  a  frontal  attack.  She  had  time  to 
organise  her  forces — for  Alice  sat  gazing  at  her,  still  pulling  rest- 
lessly at  her  hand.  She  was  trying  hard  to  think  where  it  was 
they  said  mother  was  to  be  took  to.  And  she  was  getting  very 
near  the  Infirmary  by  remembering  how  like  she  had  thought  it 
to  a  word  she  had  heard  Mr.  Jerrythought  use  on  the  beer-jug  occa- 
sion. It  was,  he  said,  infernally  cold.  If  Alice  could  have  thought 
of  this  word  she  would  have  asked  if  father  had  gone  to  the 
Infirmary  as  well  as  mother.    But  the  lady  took  her  attention  off. 

"Dear  Alice,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  where  father  has  gone  as 
well  as  I  can.  Try  and  think  what  I  mean.  Father  has  gone  to 
Heaven." — Alice  only  looked  at  her  with  large  puzzled  blue  eyes, 
and  kept  pulling  uneasily  at  her  hand.  She  was  thinking 
to  herself,  Alice  was,  what  a  strange  thing  father  should  be  able 
to  go  to  Heaven  before  he  was  dead.  Teacher  at  Sunday  School 
had  distinctly  told  her  that  was  impossible.  And  even  if  you  were 
dead,  you  didn't  go  there  in  any  hurry.  Father  wasn't  dead,  of 
course!  The  lady  would  have  told  her,  or  Mr.  Heath  with  the 
spectacles. 

Alice,  you  see,  was  perfectly  familiar  with  the  fact  of  Death, 
only  she  did  not  grasp  its  application  to  particular  cases.  She 
knew  that  an  elder  sister  of  hers  had  died  and  had  a  funeral;  but 
she  regarded  her  parents  as  entrenched  in  maturity,  and  certainly 
safe  for  extreme  old  age.  Owing  to  her  early  experience,  her  mind 
could  accommodate  a  huge  infant  mortality,  but  would  have  de- 
manded strong  proof  of  the  death  of  a  real  grown-up  person.  Con- 
sequently, it  never  occurred  to  her  that  if  such  an  improbable 
event  as  her  father's  death  were  to  take  place,  there  would  be 
any  hesitation  about  telling  her.    She  could  not  presume  to  set  up 


ALICE-FOR-SHOKT  68 

Teacher's  testimony  against  this  beautiful  lady's  authority,  but  she 
could  raise  collateral  issues,  and  perhaps  get  a  side-light  on  her 
meaning. 

"Must  mother  go  there  too?"  she  asked.  And  Peggy,  having 
committed  herself  to  the  salvation  of  one  perfect  stranger,  not 
favourably  known  by  report,  thought  she  might  indulge  in  another. 
After  all,  it  was  no  falser  to  say  fifty  people  hadn't  gone  to  Hell 
than  to  say  it  of  one.  No  number  of  empty  purses  will  make  up 
a  sovereign. 

"Not  yet,  Alice  dear.  Mother  isn't  dead.  We  hope  to  hear  that 
mother  is  getting  quite  well  at  the  Infirmary." — ^Did  we?  Well! — 
we  were  not  enthusiastic ;  but  we  would  hope  a  little,  grudgingly. 

"Then  father  is  dead,"  said  Alice,  with  a  rapidity  of  syllogism 
that  took  Peggy  aback.  As  she  folded  the  child  in  her  arms,  and 
kissed  her,  she  felt  how  the  little  thing  trembled  and  shook. — 
"Yes,"  she  said.  "Poor  little  Alice!  Father  is  dead."— But  she 
could  not  see  her  way  to  verbal  solace.  She  said  to  her  brother 
after:  "At  any  rate  I  didn't  talk  consolatory  to  her.  I  squeezed 
the  poor  baby  up  close  and  let  her  cry  quietly." — 

A  human  poultice  is  the  best  cure  for  a  broken  heart.  Alice 
clung  tightly  to  hers,  and  felt  that  it  was  good.    But  poor  father ! 

As  Peggy  sat  counting  Alice's  sobs,  which  came  at  regular  inter- 
vals, and  wondering  when  Charley  would  reappear,  she  noticed 
that  breakfast-samples,  at  choice,  seemed  to  have  been  submitted 
to  Alice,  and  not  appreciated.  She  reflected  that  six  years  old, 
however  much  it  may  be  harassed,  generally  has  an  appetite,  and 
felt  also  that  her  lapful  was  very  hot  and  had  a  high  pidse.  She 
was  not  sorry  when  she  heard  from  afar  a  sound  like  Convocation 
coming  downstairs,  and  was  conscious  that  it  was  accompanied  by 
an  Archbishop,  in  the  person  of  her  mother.  This  might  be  trouble- 
some, but  after  all  the  position  required  clearing  up. 

"Yes,  my  dear  Charles,"  thus  the  voice  of  the  Archbishop,  "I 
entirely  understand  all  that.  But  what  I  say  is,  and  I  say  it  again, 
— is,  that  I  ought  to  have  been  told.  Had  I  been  told,  I  could  have 
arranged.  As  it  is,  I  am  sorry.  But  you  must  yourself  see,  it  has 
been  impossible  for  me  to  arrange.  If  you  doubt  what  I  say,  ask 
Partridge.  Partridge  knows  what  a  house  like  this  is,  and  the 
difficulty  of  arranging " 

Peggy  cannot  hear  Partridge's  sotto-voce,  but  appreciates  its 
value  as  a  reinforcement  to  her  Principal.  She  guesses  that  it 
turns  on  the  incompetence  of  youth,  especially  when  male,  to  form 
any  opinion  whatever  about  the  burdens  and  responsibilities  that 


54  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

fall  to  the  lot  of  Archbishops;  and  that  it  glances  slightly  at  the 
readiness  with  which  Master  Charles  and  his  like  would  acknowl- 
edge themselves  mistaken  about  everything  if  they  suddenly 
changed  identity  with  their  mother,  or  her  housekeeper,  and  had 
to  form  square  to  receive  the  Wash,  and  the  Tradespeople,  and 
Cook.  Peggy's  imagination  filled  this  in  speculatively,  but  her 
ears  heard  only  a  truncated  peroration,  of  which  the  maturity 
might  have  taken  the  form  of  a  testimonial  to  the  goodness  of 
Master  Charles's  heart.  It  related  to  something  impressive  that 
Partridge  always  did  say,  and  always  would  say,  but  which  on 
this  particular  occasion  she  failed  to  say,  its  relevance  not  sus- 
taining itself  after  the  entry  of  the  conclave  into  the  room  where 
Miss  Peggy  sat  with  Alice  on  her  lap. 

"I'm  sure  this  poor  little  thing  is  very  ill.  Mamma,"  Peggy  said, 
with  perfect  confidence  in  her  mother's  kindness  of  heart,  even 
when  her  individualities  were  most  conspicuous.  That  lady,  how- 
ever, was  not  inclined  to  give  up  her  strong  point,  and  placed  it 
on  record  again  as  she  stooped  over  the  child  and  felt  her  hands 
and  forehead. 

"That,  my  dear,  is  only  the  more  reason  why  I  should  have  been 
told.  I  could  have  arranged.  As  it  is  now,  we  must  have  Dr. 
Payne  to  see  her — or  if  he  isn't  there  we  must  have  Dr.  Herz." — 
And  Charley  says  he'll  go  and  see  about  it  at  once,  and  leaves 
the  room. 

When  he  had  gone,  the  asperities  of  the  situation  acknowledged 
the  force  of  a  living  patient,  and  allowed  themselves  to  be  smoothed 
over.  Alice  was  evidently  on  the  edge  of  a  high  fever,  or  some- 
thing very  like  it.  With  her  antecedents,  it  might  be  anything 
infectious  and  terrifying.  Mrs.  Partridge  and  her  mistress  thought 
of  all  the  worst  things  they  could  think  of.  Lung  and  throat  com- 
plaints were  ineligible  for  want  of  symptoms;  but  sickening  for 
smallpox  and  scarlet-fever  were  very  popular — and  brain-fever 
came  in  a  good  third.  It  was  rather  disappointing  after  piling  up 
the  agony  to  this  point  to  have  Dr.  Payne  come  in  and  say, 
"Smallpox  and  scarlet-fever — stuff  and  nonsense!  Child's  a  bit 
feverish — ^been  over-excited.  Brain-fever?  Children  never  have 
brain-fever — ^not  when  the  brain's  healthy.  No  such  thing  as  brain- 
fever!  All  imagination  of  scribblers.  No — no! — give  her  some- 
thing quiet  and  cooling,  and  make  her  sleep.  She'll  be  all  right  in 
twenty-four  hours." 

"How  about  the  inquest,  doctor  ?"  says  Charles.  For  it  appeared 
that  not  only  himself  and  Jeff,  but  even  Alice,  was  wanted  to 
testify. — "Surely  she  oughtn't  to  go  out." 


ALICE-rOR-SHOET  66 

"Oh  no! — oh  no! — of  course  not.  Child  like  that!  There's  no 
doubt  about  the  facts,  I  suppose?" 

"Not  the  slightest." 

"Then  I  don't  see  what  they  want  with  witnesses."  And  then 
the  doctor,  who  had  been  talking  exactly  like  a  human  creature, 
suddenly  became  professional  again — "No!  Quite  impossible  to 
pronounce — case  of  this  sort — symptoms  haven't  declared  them- 
selves— case  for  caution — I  for  one  wouldn't  take  the  responsibility 
of  sanctioning  etcetera." — And  what  Dr.  Payne  would  not  sanction 
seemed  to  be  anything  and  everything  that  was  not  welcome  to 
Hyde  Park  Gardens.  Anyhow,  the  result  was  that  Alice  was  put 
into  a  bed  as  beautiful  as  anything  you  can  see  through  plate 
glass  in  Tottenham  Court  Road,  and  a  feather  mattress  you 
squashed  down  into  so  that  the  phrase  to  lie  on  it  seemed  inap- 
plicable altogether.  But  the  child  was  too  bewildered  and  unhappy, 
apart  from  the  number  of  degrees  of  fever,  whatever  they  were,  to 
be  able  to  enjoy  it  properly.  She  acquiesced  in  everything  and 
held  tight  on  to  Miss  Peggy  whenever  possible.  Recognition  of 
what  had  happened  to  father  was  getting  less  and  less,  as  her 
power  of  making  head  or  tail  of  anything  diminished. 

She  was,  however,  equal  to  observing  one  or  two  things  of  inter- 
est before  a  disagreeable  period  came  on  in  which  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  say  which  was  Teacher  and  which  was  Miss  Peggy, 
which  was  Pussy  and  which  was  that  funny  Parrot  in  the  par- 
lour. She  was  alive  to  the  fact  that  Mr.  Charles  Heath  either  had 
rone,  or  was  to  go,  to  a  thing  called  The  Inquest,  and  that  his  sister 
was  sorry  for  him.  That  some  news  of  an  unfavourable  sort  came 
about  her  mother,  and  that  the  doctor,  who  came  again  in  the 
evening,  referred  to  this  when  he  paused  in  some  writing  to  reply 
to  a  remark  of  Mr.  Charles — "Very  doubtful,  I  should  say — con- 
stitution undermined  by  drink — blood  in  a  bad  state"; — but  that 
what  he  added — "Give  her  this  last  thing,  and  she'll  sleep.  She'll 
be  all  right," — had  reference  to  herself.  The  last  event  she  was 
sanely  conscious  of  was  that  a  very  important  mass  of  something 
human  stood  by  her  bedside  and  said  in  a  prodigious  voice,  "Hey 
then!  That's  where  we  are.  And  we're  going  on  well — that's 
right!" — and  then  seemed  embarrassed  by  its  position,  and  glad  to 
go.  It  might  be  absurd  to  say  that  Alice  was  aware  of  a  certain 
air  of  forgiveness  towards  Mr.  Charles  for  importing  her,  which 
was  almost  as  effectual  as  condemnation  where  no  penalty  attached, 
keeping  him  as  it  were  constantly  at  the  bar  of  public  opinion.  She 
may  not  have  defined  this;  but  nevertheless  have  taken  note 
of  a  sort  of  rapport,  of  which  she  was  the  substratum,  between 


56  ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 

Mr.  Charles  and  all  the  family  except  his  sister,  who  refused 
to  be  sucked  into  it,  and  excused  Charley  through  thick  and 
thin. 

She  and  her  brother  made  up  their  minds,  with  the  unreasoning 
alacrity  of  youth,  that  Alice  was  to  be  retained.  By  the  time  it 
came  to  the  final  benediction  of  the  little  patient,  who  was  enjoined 
to  be  a  good  girl  and  go  to  sleep,  it  had  been  privately  settled  by 
both  that  Alice  had  come  to  stay — in  some  capacity  to  be  fixed 
afterwards  perhaps,  but  certainly  to  stay.  Neither  would  have 
assented  to  the  departure  of  a  stray  puppy  or  kitten.  As  for  possi- 
ble expenses  or  responsibilities  involved — dear  me! — surely  Heath 
&  Pollexfen's  shoulders  were  broad  enough  for  anything.  Their 
respective  views  became  a  conspiracy,  by  mutual  confession,  in  an 
interview,  by  the  back  drawing-room  fire  before  dinner,  both  hav- 
ing come  down  before  everybody  else. 

"She's  such  a  dear  little  thing,"  said  Peggy,  with  her  foot  on 
the  fender,  and  an  animated  face  in  the  firelight.  For  candles  in 
here  had  been  averted  by  special  appeal,  as  nobody  wanted  lights 
to  wait  for  dinner  by,  and  we  hated  them,  and  the  second  gong 
was  directly,  and  if  people  wanted  light  they  could  go  in  the  front 
drawing-room.  So  Peggy  and  her  brother  were  roasting  themselves 
before  a  steel  fender  and  grate,  with  a  monstrous  piece  of  best 
Wallsend  in  it,  which  would  last  all  the  evening  if  you  would  only 
put  that  poker  down  and  let  it  alone. 

"Yes — she's  an  engaging  sort  of  little — cuss,"  said  Charles,  con- 
ceding the  point  about  the  poker,  and  putting  it  down.  Because  he 
didn't  really  want  to  break  the  coal  at  all.  Neither  did  he  mean  to 
say  "cuss" — ^when  he  began  to  speak.  But  some  mysterious  influ- 
ence unexplained  made  him  put  it  in  that  form.  It  detached  him. 
from  human  weaknesses  and  motives,  and  harmonised  with  a  ten- 
guinea  dress-suit,  which  he  had  succeeded  in  getting  into  with- 
out losing  a  shirt-stud,  or  splashing  soap  in  his  eye,  or  soiling  his 
shirt-front,  or  dropping  his  watch  and  he  couldn't  hear  it  going. 
Any  of  these  events  would  have  taken  his  edge  off.  But  nothing  of 
the  sort  having  happened,  Charley  felt  serene  and  lofty,  ordered 
Phillimore  about,  and  called  Alice  a  little  cuss. 

"She's  a  dear  little  thing,"  resumed  Peggy,  not  noticing  the  sub- 
stituted expression.  "I  do  hope  it's  nothing  serious.  Brain-fever 
or  something  of  that  sort " 

"Doctor  says  not,  anyhow.  She'll  be  all  right,  Peg '."—Charles 
felt  it  his  duty,  as  a  Man,  to  reassure  his  weaker  sister,  and 
accordingly  vouched  for  everything,  whether  or  no. 

"Well!    Let's  be  hopeful  then !    I  wish  I  could  feel  comfortable 


ALICE-FOR-SHOKT  Si 

about  what's  to  become  of  her  when  she  goes  home  again.  The 
idea  of  her  being  left  alone  with  that  mother " 

"Oh  Lord !"  says  Charles.    And  he  looked  very  uncomfortable. 

"It's  very  easy  to  say,  'Oh  Lord,'  Charley  dear,  but  what's  to 
be  done  to  avoid  it?" 

"The  Governor  wouldn't  stand  it.    Perfectly  ridiculous." 

"But  you  heard  what  Papa  said — proper  enquiry  must  be  made — 
child's  relatives  must  be  found — and  all  that  kind  of  thing." 

"Well — that  was  the  Governor,  all  over !" 

"You  mean  you  think  he'll  come  round,  and  let  her  stop 
here." 

"Of  course  he  will,  if  it  comes  to  her  going  back  to  that  old 
cat.  But  the  good  woman  won't  recover.  Look  what  they  say  at 
the  Hospital — I  saw  the  House  Physician  myself — said  she  might 
possible  get  through,  if  Pyaemia  didn't  set  in.  I  hope  Pyaemia 
means  to  look  alive " 

"Oh,  Charley!  What  a  horrible  thing  to  say!  You  know  you 
don't  mean  it " 

"Don't  I?" — Charley  nods  truculently,  as  one  who  knows  him- 
self an  Iroquois  or  Cherokee. — "Besides,  Poggy,  you  know  per- 
fectly well  you'd  be  as  glad  as  me,  if  Pyaemia  did  set  in." — Peggy, 
or  Poggy,  as  Charles  sometimes  called  her,  said  nothing  in  reply; 
it  is  just  possible  she  had  misgivings  herself.  When  she  spoke 
again,  after  a  little  more  animated  contemplation  of  the  fire-flicker, 
she  went  off  to  another  point. 

"What  other  relatives  has  she  ?" 

"Nothing  but  brothers,"  said  Charles,  with  a  suggestion  that 
that  is  the  same  as  nothing  at  all.  Only  his  sister  was  inclined  to 
allow  exceptions. — "What  sort  of  brothers?"  she  asked. 

"Oh — regular  brothers.  One's  in  a  first-class  Clothing  Estab- 
lishment, another  in  a  first-class  Ironmongery;  another  mongers  or 
mungs  cheese,  and  another  drysalts.  Goody  Peppermint  told  me 
about  them  when  she  was  doing  out  the  Studio.  Some  more  are 
at  sea  or  in  the  colonies — there's  such  a  lot  of  'em  I  can't  recollect. 
The  oldest  in  the  Clothier's  shop  is  only  twenty.  Then  there  was 
a  brood  of  daughters  next  to  the  youngest,  who  is  twelve,  and  dry- 
salts.  This  poor  little  devil — as  I  remember  her  excellent  mother 
called  her  when  first  I  made  her  acquaintance — came  in  last." 

"It's  a  queer  story!  Such  a  huge  family,  and  this  poor  child 
seeming  to  be  left  stranded  in  this  way.  What's  become  of  all  the 
daughters  ?" 

"All  dead — five  of  them,  I  understand.  But  there  must  be  other 
relations,  because  the  drysalter,  she  said,  lived  at  an  aunt's,  at 


68  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

Eotherhithe,  and  the  cheesemonger  has  been  boarded  out  at  a 
cousin's,  at  Stoke-Newington." 

"What  a  lot  you  have  managed  to  recollect !" 

"I've  had  it  all  twice  over,  and  should  have  had  it  three  times 
if  the  vroman  had  cleaned  me  out  again.  My  own  theory  is  that 
every  effort  has  been  made  to  get  the  children  away  from  their 
parents,  owing  to  their  drunken  habits,  and  that  this  one  got  over- 
looked, being  a  small  fag-end.  There's  dinner!" — And  they  joined 
the  party  in  the  front  drawing-room,  everybody  else  having  been 
slowly  accumulating  during  this  conversation.  But  not  before 
Peggy  had  removed  any  veil  there  may  have  been  over  her  actual 
wishes  about  Alice,  by  saying  to  her  brother,  "Well — Charley  dear — 
I,  for  one,  hope  she  won't  be  allowed  out  of  this  house  until  we 
know  she'll  be  properly  seen  to  and  not  neglected." — And  he 
had  replied,  "Exactly  my  idea!"  Each  spoke  with  very  little 
confidence  in  any  haven  awaiting  Alice  at  any  of  her  relations, 
or  elsewhere. 

It  requires  great  experience  of  the  world,  and  a  profound  insight 
into  its  manners  and  customs,  to  know  what  is,  and  what  is  not, 
a  dinner  party.  For  the  assembly  of  fourteen  persons  of  both 
sexes  that  were  gathered  on  this  occasion  in  Mr.  Heath's  front 
drawing-room  could  not  have  been  a  party,  as  the  six  persons  out- 
side the  family  who  had  been  invited  that  evening  had  been 
asked  to  come  and  dine  quite  quietly,  and  the  invitation  had  had 
"No  party"  written  carelessly  in  after  the  writer  had  begun  to 
remain  the  reader's  sincerely,  and  was  supposed  to  be  panting  for 
a  reply.  One  lady,  an  invited  one,  was  even  accused  of  "dressing" 
contrary  to  instructions;  and  to  the  male  mind  she  appeared  to 
differ  from  her  friends  in  no  respect  whatever.  She  hadn't  even 
got  less  clothes  on,  which  we  believe  to  be  a  recognised  form  of 
dressing  more. 

As  Charles  and  his  sister  entered  the  front  room  the  last 
obstacle  to  pairing  off  was  removed  by  the  announcement  of  the 
invariable  late  guest,  whom  you  won't  wait  for  any  longer:  but 
you  do.  In  this  case  he  was  a  friend  of  Charles's,  whom  we  have 
seen  before,  and  who  caused  him  to  remark  as  he  entered  the 
room,  flanked  by  the  reproachful  countenances  of  Phillimore  and 
an  accomplice,  that  there  was  Jeff  in  white  kids,  which  was 
absurd!  Poor  Jeff!  He  was  destined  to  a  disappointment.  For 
Mrs.  Heath  addressed  him  thus:  "Will  you  take  Miss  Pethering- 
ton,  Mr.  Jerrythought  ?"  And  when  she  got  to  the  first  two  letters  of 
the  lady's  name  he  thought  she  was  going  to  say  the  rest  of  Peggy, 
and  she  said  "-therington"  instead,  and  it  was  the  governess !    For, 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  69 

you  see,  Mr.  Jeff  didn't  know  enough  of  Society  to  know  for  cer- 
tain (as  we  do)  that  no  lady  would  ever  speak  of  her  daughter  as 
Miss  Peggy. 

But  an  exaltation  was  awaiting  him.  The  great  theme  of  the 
evening  was  of  course  the  incident  of  the  previous  day,  and  it  had 
to  be  told  over  and  over  again,  none  of  the  six  new-comers  arriving 
exactly  on  the  beginning,  of  a  repeat.  So  a  partial  assimilation  of 
the  last  half  was  always  followed  by  a  new  recital,  subject  to  a 
good  deal  of  interruption  from  its  audience,  which  took  excep- 
tion to  the  accuracy  of  the  second  narrative,  and  even  laid  claim  to 
a  sort  of  independent  knowledge  of  the  facts.  Mr.  Kerr-Kerr,  the 
gentleman  who  was  going  to  be  responsible  for  Peggy's  safe  arrival 
in  her  family's  dining-room,  was  so  convinced  of  his  powers  as  an 
interpreter,  that  he  got  on  an  explanatory  platform,  and  con- 
stituted himself  an  official  news-purveyor.  As  thus:  "What  an 
extraordinary  and  shocking  affair  this  was  yesterday  at  Mr. 
Charles  Heath's  studio,  etc.,  etc.,"  and  was  then  plunging  steadily 
on  into  narrative,  when  Peggy  interrupted  him  with  "This  is 
Mr.  Jerrythought,  who  was  there  all  the  while "  and  then,  feel- 
ing that  so  cruel  a  communication  required  softening,  added,  "like 
the  man  who  was  at  the  Battle  of  the  Nile."  Mr.  Kerr-Kerr  meanly 
endeavoured  to  make  the  laugh  that  was  due  on  this  account  into 
the  end  of  a  chapter  of  the  conversation;  and  began  the  next 
chapter  with  an  unfounded  statement  that  he  had  met  Mr.  Jerry- 
thought  at  the  Eumford  Punches,  But  he  hadn't!  Peggy  was 
not  sorry  when  dinner  was  really  ready,  this  time,  and  we  could 
go  down  at  last.  And  Miss  Petherington,  who  had  remained  in 
abeyance,  got  taken  a  little  notice  of. 

Papa  was  in  his  best  form,  genially  patronising  to  the  half-dozen 
outsiders,  for  even  Sir  Walker  Kerr-Kerr,  Mr.  Kerr-Kerr's  father, 
who  was  to  take  Mamma,  of  course,  because  of  his  Sir,  was  open 
to  patronage;  it  appeared  in  fact  that  he  was  nothing  particular. 
Papa  pursued  his  usual  method  of  social  intercourse,  picking  up 
fragments  of  other  folk's  talk,  repeating  them  once  or  twice  weight- 
ily, and  then  neglecting  them,  always  with  a  certain  implication 
that  he  was  conferring  a  boon  on  Society  by  considering  them  at 
all.  He  was  not  even  to  be  trusted  not  to  reproduce  fragments 
of  long  past  conversation  in  this  way,  giving  an  impression  that 
he  must  have  been  thinking  profoundly.  But  he  never  disclosed 
the  fruits  of  his  reflections,  and  his  hidden  treasure  of  thought 
seemed  all  the  more  valuable  on  that  account. 

The  banquet  was  far  advanced,  and  Peggy  was  quite  unaware 
that  her  father  had  taken  any  notice  of  her  words,  when  he  sud- 


60  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

denly  resuscitated  her  illustration  about  the  Battle  of  the  Nile; 
which  came  from  a  rhyme  she  had  heard,  but  of  which  she  knew 
neither  the  authorship  nor  the  meaning,  if  it  had  any. 

"Hey?  What  was  that?  ^^  the  Battle.  Of  the  Nile.  Who  was 
at  the  Battle,  of  the  Nile?    Hey?" 

"Papa !  Don't  you  know  ?"  said  Peggy — "Oh  yes — of  course  you 
know  that!  At  the  Battle  of  the  Nile  I  was  there  all  the  while, 
at  the  Siege  of  Quebec  I  had  like  broke  my  neck."  .  .  . 

"Hey,  what  a  rate!  Now  let's  have  it  again,  easy!  At  the  Bat- 
tle. Of  the  Nile.  Hey?"  And  Peggy  is  under  the  necessity  of 
repeating  it  again  all  through,  much  slower,  with  repetitions  and 
corrections.  After  which  Mr.  Heath  repeats  it  all  once  more  in  a 
confirmatory  tone,  and  ends  up  with — "That's  it,  is  it?  Well — 
we're  all,  very,  fine,  people !" — Peggy  knows  perfectly  well  that  her 
father  may  go  on  repeating  it  indefinitely;  and  what  does  happen 
is  nearly  as  bad.  Por  the  old  boy  has  a  desire  to  say  something, 
when  he  really  has  nothing  to  say,  and  propounds  in  his  most 
extensive  way  the  enquiry: 

"But  what  I  want  to  know  is — ^who  was  it  who  was  there  all  the 
while?" 

And  then  Charles,  who  was  more  than  half-way  down  the  table 
on  the  other  side,  thinking  that  his  enquiry  referred  to  the  previous 
conversation  in  the  drawing-room,  which  he  had  overheard,  said 
"Jeff,"  meaning  that  Mr.  Jerrythought  had  been  a  witness  of  all  the 
tragedies  of  yesterday.  That  gentleman,  thinking  himself  spoken 
to  by  name,  replied,  "Yes,  'Eath."  And  Charles  replied,  "Shut 
up,  Jeff!  I  didn't  mean  you.  At  least,  I  did  mean  you.  I  meant 
you  were  in  the  house  all  along,  and  saw  the  doctor  patch  her 
head  up." 

What  an  amazing  capacity  for  confusion  there  is  in  a  large 
party  of  persons,  all  talking  at  once,  down  each  side  of  a  long 
table!  On  this  occasion,  and  at  this  moment,  it  chanced  that  Mr. 
Jerrythought,  after  a  triumphant  time  at  the  beginning  of  dinner, 
owing  to  his  connection  with  the  current  tragedy,  had  been  tem- 
porarily thrown  into  abeyance  by  Materialisations,  which  were 
being  exposed  by  Sir  Walker,  established  beyond  question  by  a 
gentleman  at  a  great  distance  off,  and  investigated  by  scattered 
units  in  the  spaces  between  them;  all  of  whose  shoutings  from 
afar  intersected  reasonable  conversation  at  reasonable  distances, 
and  qualified  valuable  remarks  by  the  introduction  of  foreign  mat- 
ter, before  they  could  reach  their  hearers.  A  political  sub-section 
also  was,  in  serious  undertones,  hinting  at  the  triviality  of  all  else, 
but  occasionally  getting  overheard  and  misinterpreted  in  the  next 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  61 

compartment.  Mr.  Jerrythought,  however,  when  Charles  made 
his  last  remark,  as  above,  discerned  in  it  opportunities  for  resurrec- 
tion. A  modest  disclaimer,  in  a  raised  voice,  of  his  share  in  the 
matter  seemed  the  surest  road  to  a  permanency  in  public  opinion. 

"Stood  lookin'  on!  Couldn't  be  any  use.  You  made  yourself 
useful,  'Eath." — This  has  two  effects.  The  speaker's  generous 
altruism  procures  popularity,  but  brings  down  a  shower  of  testi- 
monials on  his  friend;  this  is  a  sort  of  Nemesis  of  establishing  a 
claim  on  Europe,  and  it  makes  him  very  uncomfortable. 

"Charley  ain't  bad  at  that  sort  of  thing,"  says  a  younger  brother 
whom  we  have  had  no  occasion  to  notice.  His  name  was  Robert, 
and  he  was  called  Robin  or  Bob,  at  choice.  He  was  not  a  brilliant 
genius,  and  generally  clothed  his  thoughts,  when  he  had  any,  with 
some  one  else's  ready-made  remarks.  In  this  case  he  was  quite 
vague  about  what  his  brother  had  or  had  not  done.  But  he  sus- 
pected his  comment  might  be  plausible,  and  risked  it.  It  had  the 
very  painful  effect  of  causing  a  chubby  genial  little  Mr.  Batley,  one 
of  the  six  outsiders,  who  had  come  to  dinner  to  malie  himself 
pleasant,  to  go  so  far  as  to  drum  applause  on  the  table  with  his 
knuckles,  and  say,  "Bravo,  very  good,  Mr.  Charles!" — And  his 
example  was  followed  by  other  outsiders,  who  had  no  idea 
whatever  what  they  were  applauding.  This  was  agreeable  for 
Charles. 

But  perhaps  he  would  be  allowed  to  lapse? — ^Yes! — The  discus- 
sion of  Materialisations,  which  had  flagged  for  two  seconds  while 
its  Pros  and  Cons  contributed  plaudits  in  absolute  ignorance  of 
their  object,  revived  with  savage  energy,  as  though  Time  had  been 
called. 

"I  tell  you,  I  had  tight  hold  of  both  her  hands,  and  the  Judge 
had  tight  hold  of  both  her  ankles,  and  Lady  Penthesilea  had  both 
her  arms  tight  round  her  waist." — This  was  very  loud,  from  the 
representative  of  Belief.  Impartiality  followed,  with — "And,  if  I 
understand  you  rightly,  Mr.  Kettlewell,  the  Materialisation  was 

all  this  while  scattering  flowers  out  of  season  about  the  room " 

But  was  interrupted  by  Incredulity  in  the  person  of  the  brother, 
Robin  or  Bob,  who  said  that  was  nothing  to  Maskelyne  and 
Cooke. 

Then  the  conversation  got  very  broken,  and  it  was  difficult  to 
make  out  who  said  what.  It  will,  therefore,  be  no  more  than  a 
healthy  realism  to  omit  the  speakers'  names  in  the  text. 

"Hey,  what's  it  all  about?  Hey — ^Peggy?  You  make  'em  tell  us 
at  this  end."  .  .  .  "My  dear  Madam,  Mr,  Heath's  a  practical  man, 
and  I'm  sure  he'll  agree  with  me  that  when  a  Judge  has  hold  of  a 


62  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

little  slight  woman  by  the  ankles  ..."  "Oh  dear.  Papa,  please 
don't;  it  does  bother  poor  Charley  so."  .  .  .  "Don't  think  anything 
of  her  putting  the  red-hot  poker  down  her  back.  Maskelyne  and 
Cooke  '11  sit  on  a  blazin'  coal  fire  ..."  "Reaction,  of  course,  is 
what  we  have  to  fear.  Look  at  that  increased  majority  at  Green- 
wich." .  .  .  "But  I  want  to  hear  what  the  rumpus  is  all  about."  .  .  . 
"I  am  sure  your  father  would  agree  with  me  (you  ask  him,  Peggy) 
that  where  we  have  to  find  fault  with  Charley  is  not  ..."  "We 
must  rely  on  Gladstone."  .  .  .  "Poor  Charley!  Do  let  him  alone. 
Mamma!"  .  .  .  "As  for  Lady  Penthesilea's — Well!  things  then — 
being  found  on  the  medium,  that's  nothing  at  all !  Maskelyne  and 
Cooke  will  ..."  "My  dear,  I  wish  to  speak,  but  I  cannot  be 
heard.  All  I  was  saying  was  that  it  is  Charley's  judgment  that 
is  in  fault."  .  .  .  "And  then  we  have  Tammany  at  once."  .  .  .  "But 
his  feeling  is  always  the  right  one — I  am  sure  your  father  ..." 
"How  do  I  think  they  do  it? — why,  by  'ocussing  the  sitters,  of 
course.    I  know  a  gurl,"  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

Our  reason  for  putting  the  foregoing  on  record  is  that  it  was  a 
matrix  from  which  emerged  a  conversation  of  great  moment  to  our 
little  Alice,  who  remained  unconscious  in  Mrs.  Partridge's  roora, 
sleeping  off  the  feverish  attack,  which  was  at  any  rate  to  have  one 
good  result,  in  preventing  her  going  as  a  witness  to  the  inquest 
next  day  to  testify  about  her  father's  death. 

For  as  soon  as  the  talk  turned  on  Alice's  affairs  and  Charles's 
judgment,  the  excellence  of  his  heart  and  so  forth,  it  became  a 
battledore-and-shuttlecock  business  between  the  host  and  hostess, 
and  gradually  abated,  by  its  strong  moral  force,  the  Materialisa- 
tions and  the  Politics.  The  last  went  on  in  a  steady  undertone,  as  a 
theme  of  moment  that  could  make  no  concession,  but  the  former 
was  weakened  by  the  defection  of  Sir  Walker,  who  plunged,  so  to 
speak,  at  the  passing  shuttlecock,  and  stopped  it  flying,  with  the 
question :  "What  do  you  propose  to  do  with  the  child,  Heath  ?"  and 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  fixed  that  gentleman  with  his  eye, 
and  proceeded  to  sketch  out  the  principal  courses  that  were  not  open 
to  him,  while  his  hostess  on  his  left  made  the  responses,  sotto- 
voce: 

"You  can't  turn  her  out  in  the  street." 

*'That  is  what  /  say.  Sir  Walker " 

*^ou  can't  let  her  go  back  to  her  drunken  mother." 

"And  you  are  most  unreasonable  to  propose  to  do  so." 

"You  can't  hand  her  over  to  the  Authorities." 

"And  however  you  can  entertain  such  an  idea  for  a  moment 
I  cannot  imagine." 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  63 

"And  you  cannot  be  expected  to  provide  for  the  child  perma- 
nently.   What  course  shall  you  adopt  then  ?" 

Whereupon  Mr.  Heath,  feeling  that  his  position  as  Jupiter  was 
at  stake,  balanced  his  Banker's  account  over  his  nose,  and  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  with  his  thumbs  in  his  waistcoat.  He  closed  his 
lips  tight  first,  and  frowned,  to  forestall  the  great  decision  of  his 
speech,  and  then  published  an  edict: 

"Proper  enquiry  must  be  made  into  the  character  and  circum- 
stances of  the  family.  But  (speaking  as  one  of  her  Majesty's 
Justices  of  the  Peace)  I  may  say  that  nothing  would  warrant  the 
detention  of  the  child  against  its  parent's  consent — unless,  indeed, 
that  parent  stood  convicted  of  a  criminal  offence.  I  may  be  mis- 
taken. Sir  Walker,  and  no  doubt  you  will  correct  me  if  I  am  wrong" 
— this  with  ponderous  deference — "but  I  am  not  aware,  at  present, 
that  drunkenness  is  in  itself  a  statutory  offence.    How  is  that  ?" 

Sir  Walker  does  not  get  the  opportunity  to  show  his  knowl- 
edge, if  he  has  it.  For  the  lady  of  the  house  becomes  clothed  with 
a  halo  of  superior  sanctity,  without  provocation. 

"I  am  a  mere  weak  woman,  my  dear,  and  far  from  a  Justice  of 
the  Peace.  But  I  am  sure  Sir  Walker  will  agree  with  me,  that  even 
a  Justice  of  the  Peace  may  always  remember  that  he  is  a  Chris- 
tian." .  .  . 

Poor  Mr.  Heath  was  too  dumbfounded  with  the  suddenness  of 
this  attack — the  more  because  he  had  rather  than  otherwise  sup- 
posed that  his  wife  would  be  no  readier  than  himself  to  incur 
new  responsibilities — that  he  was  not  able  to  riposte  with  alacrity. 
The  consequence  of  this  was  that  his  defence  was  taken  up  all 
along  the  table  with  such  vigour  that  he  was  hardly  able  to  con- 
tribute to  it. 

"Come,  I  say.  Mother,  draw  it  mild!  Fancy  saying  the  Gov- 
ernor's not  a  Christian." 

"No — Mamma — ^you  shouldn't!  If  Papa  isn't  a  Christian,  I 
should  like  to  know  who  is." 

"Dear  me  I  What's  that — what's  that  ?  Who  is  saying  Mr.  Heath 
isn't  a  Christian?" — This  last  comes  from  one  of  the  politicians, 
suddenly  roused  from  a  pleasant  dream  of  hexagonal  electoral  dis- 
tricts, and  Saturday  plebiscites,  or  something  of  the  sort.  The 
rest  of  the  table  joins  chorus  on  the  same  line. 

"I  trust,"  says  Mrs.  Heath,  whose  meekness  at  this  juncture 
passes  description,  "that  nothing  I  have  said,  or  could  say,  would 
ever  bear  such  an  interpretation.  Sir  Walker  will  tell  you  I  am 
sure,  although  my  children  attack  me  all  at  once,  what  it  was  I 
really  did  say." — And  Sir  Walker  testifies  that  her  remark  was  to 


64  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

the  effect  that  Christianity  was  compatible  with  being  on  the 
Commission  of  the  Peace.  Nobody  notes  the  fact  that  there  was 
no  obvious  connection  between  this  truth  and  anything  else  in  the 
conversation. 

Mrs.  Heath  probably  feels  that  in  spite  of  Sir  Walker  being  noth- 
ing particular,  she  has  scored;  and  begins  pulling  on  her  gloves, 
and  ripening  for  an  exodus.  Perhaps,  also,  she  is  conscious  that  if 
this  diversion  is  effected  before  her  husband  has  time  to  recover 
and  protest,  he  will  be  at  a  disadvantage  later  on.  So  she  gets 
away  with  her  flock,  and  leaves  Man  at  liberty  to  throw  away  his 
serviette,  and  sit  sideways  on  his  chair,  or  change  across  to 
some  one  else's,  or  anyhow. 

As  soon  as  Man  is  left  alone,  sudden  reason  dawns  on  the  conver- 
sation, and  does  much  to  explain  its  precursor. 

"Sorry  your  mother's  so  hard  on  me,  Charley  boy,"  says  the  old 
gentleman,  who  is  a  kind-hearted  being,  if  he  is  a  bit  pompous. 
"I'm  sure  /  should  be  glad  enough  for  the  poor  child  not  to  go 
back  to  that  awful  mother  of  hers.  But  I  really  thought  it  would 
be  a  great  trouble  to  your  mother  to  know  how  to  dispose  of  her — 
she's  got  her  hands  pretty  full  as  it  is." 

"I  hope,  father,"  says  Charles,  seriously,  "you  don't  blame  me 
very  much — think  me  a  great  fool,  I  mean — for  bringing  the  poor 
little  party  home  here.  She  hooked  on  to  me  and  held  on  like  a 
limpet,  and  I  really  didn't  see  what  else  I  could  do.  I  didn't  feel 
like  leaving  her  to  the  Police " 

"No,  my  boy,  /  don't  see  what  else  you  could  have  done.  What 
are  you  drinking.  Sir  Walker  ?  That's  Port — that's  Claret.  What 
are  you  drinking,  Mr.  Batley?  ...  If  you  want  a  mild  one,  try 
one  of  the  short  ones.  They're  the  mildest.  .  .  .  When's  that 
coffee  coming?"  And  so  on;  until,  being  satisfied  that  every  one 
is  being  properly  pampered,  he  feels  he  may  talk  to  his  son,  yet 
not  be  rude  to  his  guests.  In  fact,  they  are  ignoring  and  neglect- 
ing him.  Sir  Walker,  after  throwing  confidential  money-market 
murmurs  across  the  table  to  Mr.  Batley,  has  walked  round  to  him, 
and  said  he  wouldn't  mind  saying  eleven  and  three-quarters  ex  div., 
and  Mr.  Batley  has  said  that  we  might  be  able  to  get  you  that.  Mr. 
Kettlewell,  having  lost  his  politician,  who  was  a  lady,  is  morose 
and  reserved.  Mr.  Kerr-Kerr  has  been  forgiven  by  Mr.  Jerry- 
thought  for  his  mistake  in  the  drawing-room,  and  they  are  talk- 
ing about  early  Bristol  in  what  may  be  called  a  ceramicable  man- 
ner. Robin  and  somebody  else  are  talking  about  the  Drama,  and 
making  a  great  noise. 

"No — I  don't  see  what  else  you  could  have  done,  Charley.    If  you 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  65 

had  come  home  here  and  told  us  all  about  it,  without  her,  your 
mother  would  have  been  shocked  at  you.     /  shouldn't  have  been 

allowed  a  word.     Hey? "     But  Charles  wasn't  going  to  take 

any  exception  to  what  his  father  said.  He  was  contemplating 
a  mean  and  cowardly  use  of  Peggy's  name  to  advance  the  scheme 
for  the  retention  of  Alice,  in  some  capacity.  The  fact  is,  a  gen- 
eral disposition  to  this  end  existed  in  all  quarters,  but  every  one 
of  these  quarters  wanted  somehow  to  make  a  scapegoat  of  some 
other  quarter.  Mrs.  Heath  wouldn't  say  honestly  what  she  really 
favoured,  but  was  ready  to  bring  it  about,  if  she  could  utilise 
a  latent  irreligion  she  ascribed  to  her  husband,  and  hold  him  up  to 
public  reproof.  He  for  his  part  wished  to  capture  the  position  of 
having  given  way  to  a  whim  of  his  wife — a  benevolent  one,  but  still 
a  whim.  Charles  felt  sore,  on  reflection,  at  his  own  Quixotism — 
and  tried  to  put  it  on  his  sister.  After  all,  she  was  a  woman,  and 
need  not  feel  awkward  and  gauche  about  doing  a  kind-hearted 
action.  He  had  to  remember  his  dignity  as  a  man.  Young  men 
approve  and  disapprove  of  themselves  for  the  oddest  reasons,  and 
they  are  all  tarred  with  the  same  feather. 

"Oh  no !  That's  just  what  I  thought  mys6lf .  She  never  would 
have  stood  my  leaving  the  child  to  the  Police.  And  now  neither 
she  nor  Peggy  will  at  all  like  her  to  go  back  to  that  wretched  sot 
of  a  mother  of  hers." — Observe  the  meanness  of  both  these  gentle- 
men, sitting  there  smoking  cigars,  and  trying  to  shift  off  responsi- 
bilities on  their  womankind.  They  smoke  through  a  short  spell 
of  silence. 

"Try  a  glass  of  Benedettino,  Jeff.  Didn't  you  ever  have  any?" 
For  Mr.  Jeff  had  lost  his  presence  of  mind  at  so  long  a  word,  and 
refused  to  partake,  and  was  sorry.  "Take  the  liqueur  back  to  Mr. 
Jerrythought,  Phillimore." 

"Suppose  this  terrible  old  mother  goes  to  a  better — ^hey,  Charley  ? 
What  then?  However,  we  shall  have  to  think  it  over  and  talk 
about  it."  Whereupon  Charles  in  the  most  casual  way  makes  his 
insinuation  about  his  sister : — "Peggy's  quite  taken  a  fancy  to  the 
child!"  he  says.  And  his  father  replies  (slightly  varying  his  pre- 
vious remark)  that  they  will  have  to  talk  it  over  and  think 
about  it. 

It's  pretty  clear  the  chances  are  against  Alice  being  handed  back 
to  Goody  Peppermint,  even  if  Pyaemia  doesn't  set  in. 

The  sequel  of  the  foregoing,  so  far  as  it  concerns  this  story,  may 
be  summed  up  as  follows: 

Charles,  accompanied  by  his  friend  Jeff,  attended  the  inquest  on 


66  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

Samuel  Kavanagh,  and  was  censured  by  the  Coroner  for  allowing 
the  deceased  to  go  out  of  his  sight.  "As  if,"  said  he  afterwards 
to  Peggy,  indignantly,  "everybody  ought  to  be  able  to  guess  that 
a  man  who  breaks  his  wife's  head  has  a  bottle  of  Cyanide  of 
Potassium  in  the  next  room!"  His  laxity  would  evidently  have 
been  prevented  if  Mr.  Jerrythought,  who  contrived  to  figure  as  his 
guardian  genius,  had  not  gone  upstairs  (though  most  praiseworth- 
ily)  to  open  the  street-door  to  the  doctor.  The  Coroner  spoke 
highly  of  Mr.  Jerrythought's  presence  of  mind  throughout.  But 
he  was  rather  indignant  at  the  absence  of  Alice,  under  the  shield 
of  a  medical  certificate  to  the  effect  that  she  was  quite  unfit  to  give 
evidence,  even  if  he  himself  came  to  the  house  to  take  it.  However, 
inasmuch  as  it  was  not  clear  that  a  little  girl  of  six,  who  saw  no 
more  than  she  was  known  to  have  seen,  could  add  any  force  to 
the  inference  that  her  father  died  of  the  Cyanide  that  was  found 
in  his  stomach,  Alice  was  left  in  peace. — "The  Jury  wanted  to  get 
home,  and  found  accordingly,"  was  Charles's  report  of  the  verdict. 

And  with  that  verdict  Alice's  father  vanishes,  leaving  to  his 
child  the  only  memory  of  her  babyhood  she  can  look  back  to  with 
happiness :  but  a  memory  destined  very  soon  to  become  dim  in  the 
dazzling  surroundings  she  has  been  translated  to  by  the  merest 
accident.  For  had  Charles  Heath  failed  to  hear  the  disturbance 
that  night ;  or,  hearing  it,  concluded  that  it  was  some  family  mat- 
ter outside  his  personal  range,  Alice  would  probably  have  been 
transferred  to  some  relation  after  a  temporary  sojourn  with  the 
police.  As  it  was,  he — luckily  for  her  as  it  turned  out — came  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  person  who  was  calling  "Murder!"  might  not 
be  doing  so  for  fun;  and  then,  hearing  the  policeman's  knock  and 
voice  down  the  area,  decided  on  enquiry.  Now,  suppose  he  had 
been  sound  asleep ! 


CHAPTER  Vn 
OP  pussy's  milk,  and  of  the  lady  with  the  black  spots 

Thus  it  came  about  that  Alice  Kavanagh,  who  made  her  ap- 
pearance in  this  story  less  than  a  month  since  as  a  small  waif 
carrying  home  a  beer-jug  through  a  London  fog,  became  an  object 
of  concern  and  sympathy  to  very  opulent  friends.  You  will  be 
quite  right  if  you  infer  that  she  must  have  been  a  pretty  and  at- 
tractive little  girl.  She  certainly  was  that,  with  her  clear  blue  eyes 
and  pale  brown  hair,  and  her  appearance  of  observation  and  re- 
serve— of  keeping  silence  about  something  she  was  all  the  while 
making  mental  notes  on.  For  you  may  have  noticed  that  Alice 
has  so  far  said  very  little  to  any  one.  If  you  are  an  imaginative 
person  you  may  have  heard,  at  the  suggestion  of  this  narrative,  a 
small  voice  by  itself,  in  the  dreary  basement  of  No.  40,  communing 
with  a  small  kitten,  which  is  held  out  at  arm's  length — two  arms' 
lengths — ^by  the  stomach,  to  be  talked  to,  and  now  and  then  throws 
in  a  woe-begone  squeak,  which  Miss  Alice  interprets  in  any  sense 
that  suits  her  best.  But  she  has  said  very  little  since  she  last  spoke 
to  Pussy — did  in  fact  say  almost  nothing  at  the  Heath  mansion; 
until,  a  day  or  two  after  her  arrival  there,  during  which  her  silence 
was  accepted  as  natural  in  a  timid  child  under  her  circumstances, 
she  suddenly  petitioned  to  be  allowed  to  go  home  to  Pussy,  and 
likewise  to  take  some  milk  in  a  bottle  to  give  to  Pussy  and  her 
family. 

'*I  declare  I  never  thought  of  Pussy,  Partridge!"  said  Peggy,  to 
whom  this  application  was  made.  "I  hope  she  won't  starve." 
Partridge  didn't  seem  the  least  concerned.  Perhaps  she  knew 
more  than  her  young  mistress  about  the  resources  of  a  London  cat. 
And  perhaps  didn't  care. 

"Poothy  had  a  thawther  of  milk  quite  full  up,"  said  Alice.  She 
lisped  a  good  deal,  and  Peggy  repeated  "saucer"  after  her  and 
laughed. — "Does  she  mean  to  have  a  full  saucer  every  day?" — 
Partridge  really  had  no  special  insight  into  Alice's  meaning,  but 
she  had  arrogated  to  herself  powers  of  interpretation,  partly  be- 
cause the  child  was  sleeping  in  her  room;  partly  because  of  the 
position  she  occupied,  half-way  in  the  social  gap  between  Alice  and 
Peggy,  which  enabled  her  to  understand  both.     She  vouched  for 

67 


68  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

Alice's  meaning,  this  time,  a  saucer  of  milk  every  day.  But  Alice 
shook  her  head  with  continuous  emphasis,  and  appeared  to  be 
formulating  a  report  in  silence. 

"Wasn't  it  that,  Alice?"  said  Peggy.  "What  was  it  then ?"  And 
when  Alice  stopped  shaking  her  head  (which  wasn't  immediately) 
she  drew  the  longest  possible  breath,  and  started  the  following 
speech  on  the  top  of  it: 

"Poothy  had  a  thawther  of  milk  quite  full  up  becawth  father 
thaid  Poothy  should  have  another  thawther  of  milk  vethy  thoon 

becawth  I  froed  it  over  and  mother  thaid  no "     And  by  this 

time  Alice  had  got  to  the  end  of  the  breath  supply,  and  paused  to 
take  in  a  new  one.  Partridge  stepped  in  to  assist  the  communica- 
tion: 

"And  mother  punished  you  for  spilling  the  milk?"  But  Alice 
evidently  had  some  other  tale  to  tell,  for  she  entrenched  herself 
behind  a  long  head-shake  of  denial  to  prepare  and  concentrate  it. 

"Didn't  mother  punish  you,  Alice  dear?"  said  Peggy.  And 
Alice,  in  whom  there  was  a  trace  of  reserve  towards  Partridge,  as 
compared  with  her  bearing  towards  Peggy,  immediately  paused  in 
the  head-shake,  and  said  without  stopping  to  draw  in  the  requisite 
air-supply — "Mother  never  heated  me  only  when  I  was  naughty." 

"Then  didn't  mother  think  you  naughty  for  spilling  the  milk?" 
asked  Peggy.     Alice  shook  her  head. 

"Mother  didn't  heated  me,"  said  she.  And  that  was  clear  proof 
that  she  couldn't  have  been  naughty.  Por  a  mother  has  to  work 
hard  indeed  to  destroy  a  young  child's  belief  in  her  infallibility 
and  truthfulness.  Goody  Peppermint  had  assured  her  daughter 
that  she  never  beat  her  unless  she  was  naughty;  item,  that  she 
should  always  beat  her  if  she  were;  ergo,  not  having  been  beaten, 
she  couldn't  have  been  naughty.  The  logic  was  irresistible,  but  on 
the  other  hand  the  prima-facie  naughtiness  of  spilling  milk  was 
obvious.  Peggy  suspected  some  other  reason  for  Alice's  immunity. 
"How  did  you  spill  the  milk,  Alice?"  she  asked.  Alice's  answer 
provoked  still  further  enquiry :  "Becoth  of  the  lidy,"  said  she. 

"But  why  did  you  spill  the  milk  because  of  the  lidy  ?"  Alice  be- 
came communicative. 

"Becoth  the  lidy  had  black  spots.  I  could  thee  them.  And  the 
whilst  I  was  theeing  them,  I  putted  my  foot  down  on  Poothy — and 
Poothy  went  in  the  milk.  But  Poothy  got  the  milk — motht  of  it, 
off  of  the  pivement.  Only  the  thawther  was  broken  in  pieces — 
free  pieces.    And  mother  come  out  of  the  kitchen " 

"But,  Alice  dear,  who  was  the  lidy  who  had  black  spots  ?  Lidies 
don't  have  black  spots " 


ALICE-FOR-SHOKT  69 

"On  her  veil.  Miss  Peggy,  no  doubt,"  says  Partridge,  the  inter- 
preter.   But  Alice  is  too  sharp  for  her. 

"She  hadn't  got  no  vile.     Teacher  has  a  vile " 

But  Alice  stops  in  her  narrative  and  becomes  reserved.  Perhaps 
she  is  feeling  exhausted  after  such  a  prolonged  effort.  Peggy 
resumes  her  enquiry. 

"Tell  us,  Alice,  who  the  lidy  was — ^won't  youl"  But  Alice  only 
shakes  a  speechless  head,  and  looks  puzzled. 

"Law,  Miss  Peggy!"  says  Partridge.  "The  child's  romancin'. 
Don't  you  listen  to  her  stories !" 

"No,  Partridge,  be  quiet !  I  want  to  know  about  the  lidy  with 
the  black  spots.  Come  and  sit  on  my  knee  and  tell  me — that's 
right!"  Alice  complies  with  a  readiness  that  suggests  that  mis- 
givings about  Partridge's  powers  of  belief,  or  proneness  to  dis- 
belief, may  have  had  something  to  do  with  her  reticence.  Once 
established  on  Alice's  knee,  she  becomes  loquacious  again,  but 
with  a  slight  tendency  to  saw  backwards  and  forwards  in  harmony 
with  the  rhythm  of  her  narrative. 

"The  lidy  hadn't  got  no  vile.  She  come  down  the  stairs,  but 
not  froo  the  door.     Becoth  the  door  thqueakthJ' 

This  is  a  difficult  word,  calling  for  emphasis  and  a  species  of 
pounce,  as  well  as  the  incorporation  of  the  sound  of  a  door's  hinges. 
Peggy  relinquishes  the  door  for  the  present,  as  too  difficult,  and 
recurs  to  the  spots. 

"But  tell  me  more  about  the  lidy's  spots,  Alice.  What  were  they 
made  of?"  An  ill-framed  question;  that  makes  Alice  speechless 
again.  She  puzzles  about  in  her  mind  for  an  answer,  and  none 
comes.  Then  she  sees  her  way  plainer,  and  introduces  a  new  ele- 
ment. 

"One  of  'em  was  here — and  one  was  here — and  one  was 
here." 

"Take  care  of  my  eyes,"  says  Peggy,  laughing.  "Ridiculous 
little  finger!" — For  Alice  has  been  indicating  the  exact  where- 
abouts of  each  spot  on  Peggy's  face,  with  great  decision. 

"How  many  were  there  altogether,  Alice  ?    Three  ?" 

"There  wath  thix — free  on  one  side,  two  on  the  other " 

"That  makes  five."  From  Partridge,  with  didactic  severity. 
But  Alice  repulses  her,  with  loss. 

"And  one  in  the  middle  of  the  thin."  She  places  the  ridiculous 
little  finger  accurately  under  Peggy's  dimple.  Who  says — "Oh,  you 
funny  little  thing,  how  you  tickle !  Now  do  sit  still,  dear,  and  tell 
us  more  about  the  lidy." — For  Alice's  successful  arithmetic  has 
produced  a  sort  of  discharge  of  fireworks  on  her  part. 


10  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

**Wliere  did  the  lidy  go  ?"  continued  Peggy.  "Into  the  kitchen  V* 
Alice's  reply  is  almost  reproachful. 

"Mother  was  in  the  kitchen !" 

"But  didn't  mother  see  the  lidy?" — Apparently  no!  Alice  was 
again  distinguishing  herself  as  a  logician.  If  the  lidy  had  gone 
into  the  kitchen,  mother  would  have  seen  her.  But  mother  had 
never  seen  her.     Therefore  she  went  somewhere  else. 

"Where  did  she  go  then,  Alice  dear  ?  Do  try  and  tell  us !  Don't 
you  know  where  she  went?"  For  Alice  merely  shakes  her  head  and 
closes  her  lips. 

"Where  did  you  see  her  last?"  Peggy  varies  the  question  and 
elicits  a  statement. 

"I  thee  her  go  froo  the  airey  door — out  in  the  airey — past  the 
coalth — past  the  dutht " 

"Yes,  dear,  and  then?"  says  Peggy,  who  is  feeling  very  curious. 
But  Alice  entrenches  herself  in  mystery,  or  can  tell  nothing  more. 

"Law,  Miss  Peggy,"  says  Partridge.  "What  did  I  tell  you  ?  The 
child's  only  romancin' !"  And  adds  to  herself  that  Alice  may  only 
turn  out  a  story-telling  little  hussy,  after  all!  However,  there  is 
no  public  speculation  on  this  point,  for  the  door  opens,  and  Charles 
appears.  He  has  been  to  the  Hospital  to  see  about  Goody  Pepper- 
mint. And  reports,  rather  ruefully,  that  she  is  going  on  well.  In 
fact  if  Pyaemia  doesn't  set  in,  there  doesn't  seem  much  chance  of 
our  being  delivered  from  her — so,  we  will  dissimulate,  and  appear 
to  rejoice. 

"That's  nice,"  says  Peggy,  courageously.  "Mother's  going  to  be 
quite  quite  well  again,  Alice."  But  Alice  looks  doubtful.  Charles 
meanly  leaves  the  rejoicing  to  Peggy — is  even  not  ashamed  to  mur- 
mur something  to  himself  about  where  his  sister  expects  to  go  to. 
But  he  reaps  the  advantage  of  a  relief  from  embarrassment,  and 
shelves  the  topic. 

"Well,  that  is  a  smart  new  frock,  and  no  mistake,  Alice-for- 
short!"  says  he.  Alice  deserts  her  patroness's  knee  and  makes  for 
Charles's  hand;  his  claim  of  priority  is  growing  fainter,  but  has 
not  died  out  yet;  perhaps  it  won't.  She  recites  the  deed  of  trans- 
fer of  the  new  frock,  that  she  may  not  seem  oblivious.  "I  wasn't  to 
spill  anyfing  over  it,"  she  says.  And  Peggy  explains  it  still 
further — "One  of  poor  little  Trix's — that  hadn't  been  given  away." 
— Trix  was  a  sister  next  above  Ellen,  who  had  died  eight  years 
since.  Charles's  face  pays  a  tribute  to  her  memory — ^he  has  a  flexi- 
ble and  expressive  face — and  needn't  say  everything.  "Then,  when 
we  want  something  to  spill  anything  over,  what's  to  be  done  ?  Eh, 
Miss  Kavanagh  ?"  says  he.     Partridge  sees  her  way  to  a  moral  lesson. 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  11 

"That's  what  I've  been  saying  to  her,  haven't  I,  Alice?  If  she 
wants  to  make  a  mess,  she'll  have  to  have  her  old  frock  on  again." 
Partridge  requires  small  certificates  to  her  position  at  intervals, 
and  writes  them  for  herself. 

"I  must  have  my  old  flock  on  when  I'm  took  back  to "  and 

Alice  comes  to  a  standstill.  She  began  her  speech  heedlessly — 
forgot  that  she  couldn't  end  up  with  "father"  now,  and  had  only 
a  qualified  enthusiasm  about  mother.  Peggy  heads  the  subject 
off,  and  supersedes  it  with  a  suggestion  she  might  not  have  made 
at  all  if  it  had  not  seemed  to  her  likely  to  act  as  a  lubricant. 

"Alice  is  to  go  home  first  before  mother  comes,  Charley.  Pussy 
hasn't  had  any  milk,  so  Alice  and  I  are  going  to  take  her  some  in 
a  bottle.    Aren't  we,  Alice?" 

"If  you  pleathe,  Mith,"  says  Alice,  and  turns  her  head  to  the 
commissariat. — "Poothy  never  has  more  than  a  farvingsworf  at  a 
time." 

"I  may  come  too,  I  suppose.  Miss  Kavanagh  ?"  says  Charles.  To 
this  there  appears  to  be  no  objection.  So  an  expedition  is  ar- 
ranged for  next  day  to  No.  40,  as  all  seem  to  agree  to  call  the 
house. 

The  remainder  of  this  conversation  was  a  resume  of  the  story 
of  the  lady  with  the  spots,  for  Mr.  Charley's  benefit.  Alice  stuck 
tight  to  her  tale,  including  the  sudden  appearance  and  mysterious 
disappearance  of  the  lady.  She  added  to  it  that  after  the  lady 
was  gone  she  felt  frightened,  and  mother  came  out,  and  then 
father,  and  both  said  there  hadn't  been  no  lidy.  And  then  all  went 
out  in  the  airey,  and  Alice  showed  her  father  where  she  saw  the 
lidy  last  "by  the  grite  big  iron  gite  in  the  airey."  Mr.  Charles 
said  that  was  a  funny  story,  but  evidently  only  half  believed  in  it, 
and  Alice  felt  mortified;  however,  she  resolved  to  prove  it  all  true 
by  showing  the  gate  in  the  area,  so  that  there  should  be  no  doubt 
on  the  matter.  Then  the  brother  and  sister  had  to  go,  but  Alice 
would  see  them  again  to-morrow,  quite  for  certain.  And  when 
they  had  left  the  room  Mrs.  Partridge  said  Alice  was  a  funny  little 
pitcher  for  sure,  if  ever  there  was  one,  and  took  her  down  into  the 
kitchen,  where  she  found  many  things  of  surpassing  interest. 

"Only  one  thing  I  do  stipulate  for,"  said  Peggy  to  her  brother 
as  they  went  upstairs  together.     "No  Mr.  Jerrythought." 

"Poor  Jeff!  Why  mustn't  he  come? '  He'll  be  awfully  cut  up 
if  he  hears  we  explored  the  basement  and  him  upstairs  all  the 
time " 

"Then  he'll  have  to  be  cut  up,"  said  the  young  lady,  unfeelingly. 
"Because  I  draw  the  line  at  Mr.  Jerrythought." 


CHAPTEE  Vin 

OF  THE  PSYCHICAL  RESEARCH  INTO  THE  LADY  WITH  THE  SPOTS.  OF  A 
CERTAIN  TABLE.  AND  OP  HOW  ALICE  CRIED  IN  THE  DARK.  HOW  MR. 
HEATH  CALLED  HIS  SISTER  TO  SEE  MR.  JOHNSON.  HOW  ALICE  WAS 
TOLD  THAT  THAT  WAS  MOTHER.  HOW  MR,  HEATH's  SISTER  KISSED 
MOTHER,  AND  WHY.  OF  A  PAWN-TICKET,  AND  HOW  DR.  JOHNSON 
WROTE  A  PRESCRIPTION  WRONG 

A  NEW  caretaker  had  been  discovered  to  live  in  the  basement  of 
No,  40  and  show  the  extensive  premises.  She  was  Mrs.  Twills,  and 
gave  the  spectator  an  impression  that  she  was  all  on  one  side.  A 
very  long  tooth  seemed  to  start  somehow  from  the  root  of  her  nose 
and  support  her  upper  lip.  It  made  attempts  at  speech  inef- 
fectual, and  appeared  in  fact  to  transfer  the  seat  of  articulation 
to  the  right-hand  upper  molar,  if  any.  She  was  also  so  deaf  as  to 
be  unable  to  receive  communications  except  by  conjecture;  and  so 
ill-informed  or  reticent  as  to  be  unable  to  impart  them  under  any 
circumstances.  Her  redeeming  features  were  her  temporariness, 
and  an  alacrity  in  the  distribution  of  cataracts,  while  insulated  on 
pattens,  that  was  inconsiderate  to  bystanders  perhaps,  but  service- 
able to  cleanliness.  It  would  have  been  beneficial  in  every  way 
if  it  had  not  envenomed  the  nature  of  its  promoter,  and  made  her 
look  upon  her  fellow-creatures  as  incarnate  fiends  for  dirtying 
her  steps. 

Mrs.  TwiUs,  having  been  installed  as  a  substitute  for  Goody 
Peppermint,  had  instinctively  proceeded  to  do  out  the  first  floor, 
unopposed.  "Whether  any  intelligible  instruction  had  reached  her 
mind,  Charles  certainly  did  not  know;  but  he  had  accepted  Mrs. 
Twills  as  his  lot,  considered  as  a  first-floor.  It  was  part  of  her 
nature  to  pay  no  attention  to  humanity  as  such,  and  to  ignore  its 
wants.  But  considered  as  first-floors,  second-floors,  or  offices,  she 
did  it  out.  And  this  official  position  of  Mrs.  Twills  made  it  easy 
and  natural  for  Peggy  and  Alice',  accompanied  by  Charles,  to 
penetrate  the  subterranean  regions,  without  explaining  to  her  that 
the  nicely  dressed  little  girl  that  came  with  the  first-floor's  sister 
in  a  carriage  was  the  child  of  the  previous  caretaker,  now  in  the 
Hospital,  and  a  father  who  had  poisoned  himself  on  the  premises. 
In  fact  nothing  that  occurred  during  the  visit  threw  any  light  on 

72 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  Is 

what  Mrs,  Twills  knew  either  of  the  tragic  story  of  her  predeces- 
sors, or  of  anything  else. 

Peggy  felt  as  they  drove  up  to  the  door  how  ghastly  were  the 
whole  of  the  circumstances,  but  was  glad  of  one  thing  at  any 
rate — that  the  child  could  only  have  the  vaguest  notions  of  the 
cause  of  her  father's  death.  She  could  not  quite  make  out  how 
much,  and  was  afraid  to  talk  about  it  to  her.  She  had  assured  her 
that  her  mother  was  going  on  well  in  the  Hospital,  and  that  she 
should  soon  go  and  see  her.  The  assurance  was  not  welcomed  with 
rapture,  and  the  subject  had  dropped  naturally.  She  was  relieved, 
on  getting  to  the  house,  where  her  brother  came  down  to  meet 
them,  at  Alice  making  no  reference  to  her  parents,  but  going 
straight  to  the  consideration  of  Pussy  and  the  milk.  This  was  of 
course  the  ostensible  cause  of  the  excursion — the  real  one,  as  far 
as  Peggy  was  concerned,  being  to  get  a  repetition  on  the  spot  of 
the  story  of  the  mysterious  lady. 

So,  as  soon  as  Pussy,  who  certainly  was  the  most  uncomely,  woe- 
begone, and  green-eyed  little  black  thing  ever  seen  by  man,  had 
been  introduced  and  provided  with  the  farthing's  worth  of  milk 
stipulated  for,  Peggy  revived  the  subject  of  the  lady.  But  in- 
directly, having  had  some  experience  of  the  upsetting  effects  of 
direct  examination  on  Alice. 

"We  shan't  break  the  saucer  this  time,  Alice,  shall  we?  Because 
this  time  there's  no  lady  with  spots  coming  downstairs." 

"There  was,  before"  said  Alice,  with  emphasis.  She  was  rather 
up  in  arms  to  protect  her  story  from  doubts  that  might  be  cast 
on  it;  perhaps  seeing  through  a  certain  amount  of  pretence  in  the 
general  acceptance  it  had  received,  and  suspecting,  without  putting 
the  suspicion  into  words,  that  she  was  being  treated  like  a  child. 
Of  course  she  really  was  a  great,  grown-up  girl  of  six. 

"And  she  came  right  through  that  door  at  the  top  of  the  stairs, 
that  swings  both  ways?" — Peggy  remembered  perfectly  that  the 
contrary  was  stated,  but  thought  this  a  good  way  of  getting  a  re- 
peat. She  was  right.  Alice  shook  her  head  a  long  time,  and  then 
discharged  a  denial,  like  a  gun. 

"I — thed — ^No!  Becoth  the  door — becoth  the  door — becoth  the 
door " 

"Yes,  dear,  because  the  door  what?" 

"Becoth  the  door  ihqueahtJi!" 

"I  see !  Of  course  it  always  squeaks  when  it's  opened.  And  this 
time  it  didn't  squeak,  so  it  wasn't  opened?"  Alice  nodded  a  great 
many  times  to  this,  rather  as  approving  its  clearness  of  statement, 
as  well  as  confirming  its  truth. 


74  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

'Toothy  didn't  hear  it,  neever,"  said  she.  And  Charley  burst 
out  laughing. — "What  a  funny  little  tot  it  is!"  he  cried.  "As 
grave  as  a  judge!" 

"Hush,  Charley,  don't!"  said  his  sister.  "Do  be  discreet,  or  we 
shan't  get  any  more- 


"8he  doesn't  understand- 


"Oh — doesn't  she? — she's  as  sharp  as  a  razor "     And  then 

addressing  Alice — "Never  mind  him  and  his  nonsense,  poppet — 
he's  only  laughing  at  us.  You'll  tell  me  another  time  how  the 
lady   came   downstairs,   won't  you?"    Alice  nodded.    "And   how 

she  went  out  into  the  area ?"    More  nods.    "And  how  she  went 

right  up  the  area  steps  and  out  into  the  street  ?" 

The  vigour  with  which  Alice  shook  her  head  threatened  disloca- 
tion. She  drew  a  tremendous  breath  to  supply  her  denial  with 
force. 

"I  thed — ^the  lidy  went  past  the  coal-thellar,  and  I  thed — ^the  lidy 

went  to  the  grite  iron  gite  acrost  the  airey  and  I  thed "  here 

some  confusion  came  in — "No!  I  didn't  thed — there  wathn't  no 

lidy And  Poothy   theed   there   wathn't   no   lidy And 

father  came  out " 

The  slight  inflection  of  the  child's  voice  as  she  said  "father" 
contained  its  tribute  to  his  memory — and  was  more  expressive  than 
an  epitaph.  Had  her  brother  not  been  there  probably  Peggy 
would  have  made  her  talk  about  father,  and  she  could  have  had  a 
good  cry.  But  in  such  a  connection  the  old  "Two  is  company  and 
three  is  none"  is  more  than  ever  true.  So  it  was  best  to  turn  the 
conversation. 

"Why,  Alice,  I  thought  you  said  the  lady  went  up  the  area- 
steps ?" 

"There  wath  no  lidy" — ^this  very  emphatically.  "Poothy  theed 
there  wath  no  lidy " 

"You  mean  she  disappeared?"  Alice  wouldn't  conmait  herself 
to  hard  words,  but  was  inclined  to  invest  in  this  one  on  specula- 
tion. She  sanctioned  it  with  a  short  nod,  and  her  two  hearers 
glanced  at  each  other. 

"4 re  there  any  area  steps?"  said  Peggy.    "I  didn't  see  any " 

And  this  was  true,  only  Peggy  hadn't  looked.  Alice's  blue  eyes 
opened  wide  and  indignant  at  the  suggestion  that  there  were  no 
area  steps.    "Come  out  and  thee  them,"  said  she. 

"It's  horribly  dirty  out  there,"  said  Charles. 

"This  old  rag  of  a  thing  won't  hurt,"  said  Peggy.  "I  put  it  on 
on  purpose."  And  Alice  wondered  about  the  "old  rag."  She  had 
been  thinking  how  beautiful  it  was,  all  the  way  in  the  carriage. 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  16 

But  the  area  outside  was  a  grizzly  and  a  filthy  place,  and  we 
shuddered  at  its  damp  and  drip  and  mouldy  slime.  The  coterie 
of  cats  that  exploded  and  fled  as  we  emerged  into  their  disagreeable 
perfume  were  uncanny  and  monstrous  cats,  unfit  to  live  and  al- 
most incapable  of  death.  Surely  witches — the  worst  witches — ^had 
been  changed  into  them  a  hundred  years  ago;  and  now,  when 
Peggy  in  all  her  youth  and  beauty,  and  the  old  rag  that  wouldn't 
hurt,  stepped  out  into  their  preserve  and  sent  them  flying,  may  not 
one  of  them  have  said,  as  she  flung  a  curse  back  at  her — "I  too 
was  young  and  beautiful  once,  like  you !  But  I  gave  myself  to  the 
Devil,  and  this  is  his  gratitude!" — ^You  may  feel  inclined  to 
exclaim :  "This  is  an  entirely  unwarrantable  speculation,  based  upon 
no  data;  a  neotheosophical  reincarnationism  without  so  much  as 
a  single  Himalayan  Brother  to  back  you  up !  Justify  your  absurd 
imagination  by  the  production  of  adequate  and  substantial  evi- 
dence, or  proceed  with  your  story  without  raising  irrelevant  issues, 
and  giving  your  reader  the  trouble  of  finding  out  how  much  he 
may  skip  with  safety" — ^that  is  to  say,  if  you  are  in  the  habit  of 
indulging  in  long  exclamations.  Should  you  do  so  our  reply  is : — 
if  you  think  our  surmise  about  London  cats  so  very  absurd,  study 
them  more,  and  note  the  effect  on  your  opinion. 

However,  it  won't  do  to  leave  Peggy  standing  in  that  grimy  door- 
way, in  that  filthy  area,  while  we  sift  this  question  to  the 
bottom.  She  didn't  stand  there  more  than  just  long  enough  for 
the  cats  to  disperse;  and  then  emerged  guided  by  Alice,  who  kept 
tight  hold  of  her  hand.  "The  coalth  ith  in  there,"  said  she, 
"and  the  dutht  in  there" — and  pointed  to  two  vaults  in  which  only 
persons  of  iron  constitution  could  have  enjoyed  a  long  imprison- 
ment for  life.  "Theethe  ith  the  area  steps,"  Alice  explained, 
touching  one  to  make  quite  sure. 

"Then,"  said  Peggy,  "where  is  the  great  gate,  or  grite 
gite?" 

"That's  round  the  comer,"  said  Charley,  who  was  following  in  the 
rear.  "Miss  Kavanagh  must  have  seen  the  lidy  through  the  win- 
dow  " 

"Proo  my  bedroom  window,"  says  Miss  Kavanagh.    "And  mother 

come  out — and  father  come  out.    And  there  wathn't  no  lidy " 

and  Alice  goes  on  shaking  her  head  with  a  wistful  expression, 
dramatically  indicative  of  fruitless  search.  They  went  round  the 
corner  to  the  great  gate.  Peggy  and  Charley  looked  at  one  another. 
"You  go  inside,  Charley,"  said  she.  "See  if  you  can  see  me  here 
from  the  passage — I'll  stop  outside  the  window "  He  went  in- 
side and  presently  returned.     "Miss  Kavanagh's   all  right,"  he 


76  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

said.  "You  can  see  quite  plain  from  where  Pussy  was  drink- 
ing the  milk."  "And  Poothy  could  thee  too,"  said  Alice,  who 
seemed  to  appreciate  the  testimonial  to  her  accuracy. 

"Well — it's  a  funny  story !"  said  Peggy,  and  hoth  gave  it  up  as  a 
bad  job,  and  turned  to  go  indoors. 

"But  I  did  thee  the  lidy!"  cries  Alice,  appealingly. 

"Of  course  you  did,  dear!  By  the  bye,  you've  never  told  us 
what  father  and  mother  said.     What  did  father  say?" 

"Thaid  I  was  deamin'.    But  I  wasn't  deamin'.    I  was  awike " 

"And  what  did  mother  say  ?" 

"Thaid  I  wath  a  little  liar! "    And  Peggy  felt  that  her 

wishes  for  that  good  woman's  recovery  became  more  difficult.  She 
changed  the  subject.  "I  wish,"  she  said,  "Mrs.  Twills — is  she? — 
would  leave  the  boys  alone.  They  weren't  doing  us  any  harm." 
For  the  party  had  not  been  twenty  seconds  in  the  area  before 
Ishmaelites  began  agglomerating  against  the  airey-palins  above 
them,  offering  their  services  with  confidence,  and  volunteering 
useless  information.  They  also  threw  each  other's  hats  down 
through  the  palins,  and  then  denied  having  done  so.  Mrs.  Twills's 
attempts  to  disperse  them  were  well-intentioned,  but  ineffectual. 
It  was  time  we  went  in,  clearly.  So  we  did  so,  and  perhaps  the  boys 
went  away.    And  probably  the  cats  came  back. 

"It  wouldn't  be  such  a  dreadful  place  if  it  were  clean,"  said 
Peggy.  And  Charles  mentioned  that  Mrs.  Twills  meant  to  do  it 
out  as  soon  as  there  was  Time.  But  there  was  a  note  of  uncer- 
tainty in  his  voice,  and  both  appeared  cautious  about  going  intc 
details.  After  all,  it  was  the  landlord's  business.  Where  was  it 
"it"  happened? — This  was  Peggy's  question  to  her  brother,  at  a 
moment  when  Alice  appeared  absorbed  in  Pussy.  They  passed 
through  into  the  kitchen. 

Mrs.  Twills  was  always  a  phase,  and  never  a  permanency;  and 
she  had  left  behind,  at  her  own  'ouse,  a  superior  class  of  furniture 
to  that  she  found  on  the  premises.  So  the  Kavanaghs'  goods  re- 
mained for  the  time  being  undisturbed.  Until  it  was  certain 
that  the  woman  was  not  going  to  recover,  action  was  paralysed — or 
rather  action  didn't  want  to  be  bothered,  having  plenty  to  see  to 
elsewhere.  So  the  House  Agents  who  had  charge,  and  who 
represented  action  in  this  case,  availed  themselves  of  the  fleeting 
nature  of  Mrs.  Twills  as  a  stop-gap,  and  stood  it  over  for  a  week  or 
so,  till  we  could  see  our  way.  Mrs.  Twills's  attitude,  so  far  as  it 
could  be  understood,  seemed  to  be  that  of  premature  resentment 
against  assumed  allegations  of  interference  on  her  part.  It 
was  surmised  that  she  said  that  everything  was  left  just  as  it  was — ■ 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  77 

she  wasn't  going  to  meddle  with  anything.  She  left  an  impression 
of  having  censured  the  human  race  for  a  vice  of  interposition  in 
each  other's  affairs  that  she  was  nobly  exempt  from.  She  can 
hardly  be  said  to  have  spoken  on  the  subject.  She  withdrew  after 
producing  an  effect  of  having  done  so,  and  went  upstairs  with  a 
pail. 

"It  was  in  here,"  said  Charles.  "No! — not  the  poisoning — the 
row.  Here's  the  hammer."  Peggy  shuddered.  It  was  an  awful, 
large  cast-iron  hammer,  with  a  sharp  comer  on  the  square  front. 
It  had  come  out  somehow  on  the  Inquest  that  it  had  been  used 
by  some  previous  tenants  to  break  coal,  and  had  been  forgotten 
and  found  in  the  cellar. — "No  wonder  it  took  the  scalp  nearly 
off,"  said  Charles.    "Poor  feUow!" 

"Poor  woman,  I  should  say !"  said  Peggy. 

"Poor  woman  of  course,  but  poor  fellow  too!"  But  both  were 
really  most  sorry  for  him — ^there  was  no  doubt  of  it! 

"I  wonder  what's  in  here,"  said  Peggy,  prying  into  the  drawers  of 
a  table  that  had  a  strong  appearance  of  having  seen  better  days. 
It  had  been  a  wedding  present,  twenty-odd  years  ago,  and  was  one 
of  the  two  or  three  things  the  couple  had  held  on  to.  Charles 
remarked  on  his  sister's  invasion  of  sacred  privacy;  and  she  said 
she  didn't  care,  and  it  couldn't  do  any  harm.  She  pulled  out 
a  portfolio,  or  what  seemed  like  one.  But  it  wasn't  a  port- 
folio. It  was  a  series  of  pictures  on  millboard  flaps,  folding  like 
a  screen — it  was  the  young  gentleman  of  property  who  had  adorned 
the  glorious  shop-window  in  the  years  of  hope  and  youth  long 
gone.  He  had  been  carefully  preserved,  and  was  still  smiling 
cheerfully  and  immovably  in  all  his  costumes.  But  could  he 
have  appeared  now  in  the  flesh,  it  never  would  have  done  to  clothe 
it  in  coats  and  trousers  of  that  cut.  Pall-Mall  would  have 
disowned  him,  and  Piccadilly  would  have  cast  him  forth.  But 
his  portraits  had  been  treasured  by  their  owner,  in  whose  heart  hope 
had  never  quite  died  out  that  they  should  one  day  reappear  in 
their  splendour,  before  it  was  quite  too  late  for  them  to  be  the 
fashion.  Of  course  poor  Kavanagh  knew  latterly  they  were 
as  extinct  as  the  Pharaohs,  but  he  clung  to  them  mechanically,  and 
kept  them  clean.  To  throw  them  away  or  burn  them  would 
have  been  to  admit  that  there  never — ^no !  never — ^would  be  a  new 
shop  again! 

Of  course  Peggy  and  Charles  did  not  grasp  this  relation  of  the 
coloured  prints  to  the  ruined  life  of  their  late  possessor.  They 
only  said  "Some  of  his  tailors'  costumes,"  and  how  funny  they 
looked  nowadays !' — "Only  look  at  his  tight  trousers  and  his  absurd 


78  ALICE-EOK-SHORT 

stick-up  collars,"  said  Peggy,  and  pushed  them  back  in  the  drawer 
and  shut  it. 

"And  then,"  said  she,  **he  went  away  and  swallowed  the  poison 
in  the  other  room ?" 

"Quite  away  at  the  end  of  the  passage,"  said  Charles.  "We 
can  go  there,  but  it's  very  dark." — For  the  afternoon  was  becoming 
the  evening,  and  February  can  be  very  dark  at  half -past  four  in  a 
London  basement.  Mrs.  Twills  had  lighted  the  gas  in  the  kitchen. 
Charles  secured  the  box  whose  matches,  when  they  decided  to  ignite, 
didn't  care  what  they  did  it  on,  and  led  the  way  out.  Peggy 
called  Alice,  but  got  no  answer. 

"Where  is  that  young  person  ?"  said  she. 

"Most  likely  along  there — the  room  she  slept  in,"  said  her  brother. 
So  they  passed  along  the  dark  passage,  past  the  inexplicable  bulk- 
heads and  cisterns  and  pipe-agglomerations,  leaving  Alice,  as  they 
thought,  behind.  Charles  lighted  a  match  or  two  on  the  way  to 
help  them  forward.    "Here's  the  room,"  said  he. 

"What's  that?"  said  Peggy.  And  what  was  what? — asked 
Charles  in  return.  "It's  the  child  crying,"  she  continued.  "I'm 
sure  it  is !"  And  so  it  was,  for  when  they  went  into  the  room,  there 
was  poor  Alice,  who  had  found  her  way  there  in  the  dark,  to  cry 
by  herself  in  the  room  where  father  died.  "Oh,  you  poor  little  for- 
saken scrap!"  said  Peggy,  picking  her  up  and  giving  her  a  good 
long  kiss.  Alice  indeed  needed  consolation.  "Was — father — 
really — died — ^here?"  she  said  between  her  sobs.  She  hadn't  been 
frightened  of  the  darkness;  in  fact  she  seemed  to  have  thought  it 
was  still  light.  In  a  true  Londoner  this  singular  belief  in  daylight 
after  the  fact  is  not  uncommon;  and  leads  to  refusals  to  light  the 
gas,  in  deference  to  ipse-dixits  to  the  effect  that  we  can  see  to 
read.  And  we  can't,  and  we  know  we  are  putting  our  eyes  out. 
If  such  things  be  in  upper  stories,  what  can  we  expect  in  base- 
ments? Perhaps  too  Alice  had  lived  so  much  in  the  dark  that  it 
didn't  terrify  her  as  it  did  us  in  our  childhood. 

"May  I  have  Poothy  to  tike  to  the  big  house?"  said  Alice. 
Children  of  six  don't  cry  for  ever,  and  the  recurrence  of  Pussy,  a 
good  deal  too  full  of  milk,  and  quite  hard  like  a  bullet,  supplied  the 
context  for  a  new  paragraph  in  Alice's  life.  Yes!  She  might 
bring  Pussy,  but  Pussy  was  not  to  be  allowed  on  the  cushions  of 
the  carriage. 

When  Mr.  Charles  and  Miss  Peggy  and  Pussy  and  Alice  reached 
Hyde  Park  Gardens  (about  which  journey  we  may  remark,  in  the 
&rm  of  a  conundrum,  that  our  first  and  our  second  execrated  our 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  79 

third,  who  was  not  allowed  on  the  lap  of  our  fourth),  they  found 
a  visitor  awaiting  them,  who  was  Dr.  Johnson,  Sir. — "It's  not  the 
Lexicographer,  Pog,"  said  Charles.  "So  you  needn't  look  so 
frightened!" — It  was,  in  fact,  a  young  doctor  from  the  Hos- 
pital, whom  Charles  had  made  some  acquaintance  with  on  his 
recent  visits.  He  was  passing  quite  close,  he  said,  and  had 
called  to  tell  Mr.  Heath  that  the  patient  he  was  interested  in  was  a 
good  deal  better,  and  if  Pyaemia  didn't  set  in,  etc.  But  the 
said  patient  was  fidgeting  about  the  little  girl.  She  had  been 
told  about  her  husband — well !  it  couldn't  be  helped — of  course  her 
deposition  had  been  taken  as  soon  as  she  was  fit  to  make  one — 
you  see  she  might  have  gone  delirious,  and  died,  any  time — ^first 
interval  was  taken.  Dr.  Johnson  thought  it  might  be  well  for  her 
.to  see  the  little  girl. 

Mr.  Heath  thought  not.  He  did  not  like  to  set  up  his  judgment 
in  opposition  to  that  of  others  better  qualified  to  judge.  "But 
really,  my  dear  Sir,  the  woman  was  such  an  awful  woman " 

"A — what  sort  of  an  awful  woman?  What  did  she  seem  like  to 
you?     How  should  you  describe  her?" 

"A  regular  Jezebel — a  drunken  virago  just  on  the  edge  of 
delirium  tremens.    A  horrible  hag!" 

"Curious!    Still,  one  does  meet  with  these  cases." 

"But  why  curious?  Doesn't  she  seem  like  that  to  you 
now?" 

"Not  the  least.  I  believe  she  was  different  when  she  first  cama 
in.  /  didn't  see  her.  The  House-Surgeon  and  the  Nurse  had 
your  impression  of  her  though " 

"Do  you  mind  my  calling  my  sister?  I  should  like  her  to  hear 
your  account  herself." 

"Not  at  all."  And  really  when  we  come  to  think  of  it,  there 
was  no  reason  whatever  why  Dr.  Johnson  should  object  to  Mr. 
Heath  calling  his  sister.  Especially  as  he  thereon  heard  her  say 
in  the  distance,  "Yes  please,  I  should  like  to  if  I  may."  If  he  hact 
made  any  objections  perhaps  he  would  have  withdrawn  them  on 
hearing  Mr.  Heath's  sister's  voice.  It  was  one  that  caused  imme- 
diate curiosity  to  see  its  owner. 

"Very  well,  then!  I  shall  expect  to  see  you  to-morrow  at  half- 
past  ten  at  the  Hospital."  It  is  Dr.  Johnson  who  speaks,  and  we 
have  skipped  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary  interview.  "I  anticipate 
from  what  Mr.  Heath  has  been  telling  me  that  you  will  be  rather 
surprised.  Dear  me,  is  that  seven  o'clock?  I  must  hurry.  But 
really  you  are  so  awfully  jolly,  and  your  hair  is  so  beautiful  and 


80  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

soft,  and  your  nose  is  such  a  perfectly  satisfactory  nose,  and  your 
mouth  is  so  absolutely  right  in  all  respects  whether  it  speaks  or  is 

silent,  while   as   for   your   voice !     Really   I   must  run ! 

Good-night,  Miss  Heath!  Good-night,  Mr.  Heath!  To-morrow 
at  the  Hospital  at  half -past  ten " 

And  that  young  doctor  runs  and  catches  a  cab,  and  tells  it  to 
get  along  sharp.  He  does  not  know — yet — that  his  life  has  just 
been  sliced  into  two  distinct  halves,  like  B  C  and  A  D,  by  his 
chance  visit  at  the  great  big  house  where  he  left  the  first  gong 
ringing  for  dinner;  and  where  the  girl  he  had  been  talking  with 
said  to  her  brother  as  she  went  away  to  dress — "What  very  nice- 
looking  young  doctors  they  have  at  that  Hospital!  Can't  you 
fetch  me  a  few  more,  Charley?"  And  Charley  replied  that  one 
was  enough. 

Perhaps  I  ought  to  mention  that  the  portion  of  what  the  nice- 
looking  young  doctor  said  between  the  words  hurry  and  really  I 
must  run  was  not  said  audibly,  nor  in  fact  said  at  all.  But  he 
thought  it  just  the  same  for  all  that. 

At  half -past  ten  next  morning  Alice  found  herself  standing  by 
something  on  a  bed  in  an  enormous  roomful  of  beds,  with  Miss 
Peggy  beside  her,  telling  her  that  that  was  mother.  For  Alice 
found  it  hard  to  make  out  what  was  that  colourless  figure  with  the 
head  bound  up  in  bandages,  like  a  sort  of  mummy,  that  lay  so  still 
and  spoke  so  low.  And  then  presently  she  saw  that  it  was  mother 
sure  enough,  though  she  spoke  unlike  her,  and  very  slowly,  and 
never  moved  her  head,  only  her  eyes. 

"Is  that  Alice?" 

**Please,  Mother,  yes,"  said  Alice,  and  was  frightened  at  the 
sound  of  her  own  voice. 

"It  was  drink "    The  woman  got  thus  far — then  seemed  to 

stop  less  for  want  of  something  to  say  than  from  not  knowing 
exactly  to  whom  she  was  speaking.  Peggy  detected  this,  and 
sitting  down  by  the  bed  placed  her  hand  on  the  colourless  hand  that 
lay  outside  the  coverlid.  It  moved  slightly  towards  her  in  re- 
sponse— and  her  eyes  followed  the  movement. 

"I  don't  know.  Ma'am,  who "  she  began,  and  Peggy  supplied 

the  information  she  was  framing  her  speech  to  ask. 

"Mr.  Heath's  sister,  on  the  first  floor "    Peggy  was  colloquial, 

but  people  are,  in  real  speech.  It  is  only  in  books  they  taUc  like 
books. 

"Mr.  Heath  in  the  spectacles — ^kind  to  Alice — I  was  not." 

"Alice  hasn't  said  so,  Mrs.  Kavanagh.    Alice  says  you  were 


ALICE-FOR-SHOKT  81 

often  very  kind."  This  was  quite  unwarranted,  but  Alice  con- 
firmed it  with  nods. 

"Mr.  Heath  was  kind,"  says  her  mother,  avoiding  the  point. 
"He  was  kind  when  Alice  broke  the  jug — the  jug  we  found  in  the 
little  cellar — is  that  him  ?" 

"No.  This  is  Dr.  Johnson."  For  it  had  been  decided  Peggy 
and  Alice  should  go  alone.  Too  many  would  do  no  good.  Peggy 
thinks  it  would  be  best  to  let  her  talk  of  easy  things,  and  rather 
welcomes  this  jug.  She  wants  to  avoid  the  husband  and  the  poison. 
"Where  did  you  find  the  jug,  Mrs.  Kavanagh  V 

"There  was  a  kind  of  place  in  the  wall,  a  sort  of  hole  going  low 
down.  Samuel — that  was  my  husband.  Miss — cleared  it  out.  It 
was  clay  and  sand  like,  and  the  jug  buried  in  it,  stood  right  in 
under  the  pavement  and  covered  over." 

"Wasn't  it  broken?" 

"Not  broke — oh  no!  We  thought  to  keep  it  for  the  beer. 
It  was  wrote  over  with  verses — ^morals  and  pictures." 

"Was  there  nothing  there  but  the  jug?" 

"Just  the  jug."  But  a  moment  after  she  continued:  "No — 
Miss.  I  won't  tell  any  untruth.  When  we  come  to  look,  there 
was  a  ring.     In  the  jug." 

"Did  you  keep  the  ring?" 

"Took  it  to  the  pawnshop."  Peggji,  glancing  round  for  grown- 
up sympathy,  meets  the  eyes  of  the  young  doctor,  who  elevates  his 
eyebrows  with  a  slight  "Of  course"  nod.  "You  don't  know  about 
pawnshops.  Miss?" 

"Ohdear,  yes,  Ido!" 

"I'm  fearing  the  ticket  may  be  lost.  Out  of  my  dress-pocket. 
This  gentleman " 

"I  see,  Mrs.  Kavanagh.  You  mean  it  was  in  the  dress  you  had 
on.  Will  you  enquire.  Dr.  Johnson  ?" — No  doubt  about  that,  any- 
how !  Dr.  Johnson  goes  away  to  enquire.  The  voice  of  the  woman 
drops,  and  Peggy  stoops  to  catch  what  she  is  saying.  She  speaks 
with  much  effort,  but  clearly  and  consecutively : 

"You  will  wonder,  Miss,  but  I  would  like  to  tell  you." — ^Peggy 
nods  go  on. — "It  was  the  drink — it  was  all  the  drink.  My  mother 
was  good,  but  she  died  of  it.  It  was  one  story  alike — for  her  and 
for  me."  She  paused  a  second.  Best  not  to  hurry  her,  thought 
Peggy.  "She'd  had  six,"  she  went  on.  "And  she  wasn't  the  strong 
woman  I  was,  at  the  first  go  off." 

Peggy  felt  the  whole  tale  was  told,  for  both,  but  she  let  her  finish 
it  her  own  way. 

"I  had  been  a  total  abstainer.  Miss,  from  fear  of  it.      And 


82  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

Samuel,  I  made  of  him  a  total  too,  or  near  upon  it.  It  made  him 
some  happy  days,  and  made  me." 

"But  what  was  it  made  you  give  it  up?" 

"What  can  a  woman  do.  Miss,  when  her  strength  is  not  enough  ? 
And  when  the  doctor  comes  and  says,  'You  must  drink  stout' — 

'You  must  take  port' ?    It  began  so  with  her — it  began  so  with 

ime !    And  what  could  you  hope  from  a  man,  but  follow  on ?" 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Kavanagh!  I  am  so  sorry  for  you.  I  see  it  all — so 
plain!"  The  woman  dropped  her  voice  to  a  whisper.  "Does  the 
child  know  ?    Does  Alice  know  ?" 

"About  her  father?    I  don't  know.     She  knows  he  is  dead." 

"When  she  is  old  enough  to  understand,  will  you  tell  her  all  ?" 

"You  mustn't  talk  like  that,  Mrs.  Kavanagh.  The  doctors  say 
you  will  get  up,  and  be  yourself  again." 

"Not  to  trust  to.  Miss.  Much  best  the  other  way.  Much  best." 
Dr.  Johnson  returns.  He  has  found  the  pawn-ticket.  The  patient 
understands  and  says:  "Give  it  to  the  lady  to  keep  for  Alice." 
Peggy  hesitates  a  minute,  then  puts  it  in  her  purse.  The  doctor 
goes  away  to  another  bed. 

A  nursing  sister  comes  up,  and  thinks  the  patient  has  talked 
enough.  Her  temperature  will  go  up  if  she  talks  any  more. 
Peggy  says  "Kiss  your  mother,  Alice,"  and  facilitates  her  doing 
so.  And  mother  feels  like  a  bit  of  cold  wood  to  Alice.  And  then 
Alice  thinks  she  must  be  dreaming.  For  the  beautiful  young  lady, 
the  incredible  being  who  has  come  like  a  strange  revelation  into 
Alice's  life,  herself  stoops  and  kisses  the  cold  wooden  image,  and 
says,  "Good-bye,  Mrs.  Kavanagh,  God  bless  you!"  And  the 
image  repeats,  "God  bless  you.  Miss.  Tell  Alice."  And  then 
they  go  away. 

They  are  met  by  the  young  doctor,  and  Alice's  dream  con- 
tinues. In  it  she  and  he  and  Miss  Peggy  are  driven  to  a 
strange  street,  not  very  far  off,  and  there  he  gets  down  and  is  a 
long  time  in  a  curious  shop.  He  brings  with  him  when  he  comes 
out  a  little  packet  which  he  hands  to  Miss  Peggy.  "I'm  not  at 
all  sure,"  he  says,  "that  you  have  any  legal  right  to  it,"  and  she 
replies,  "It  was  given  to  me,  anyhow,  and  I  shall  keep  it  for 
Alice  until  its  rightful  owner  claims  it." 

That  sums  up  all  Alice  saw.  But  we,  who  know  all  things,  can 
assure  you  that  that  young  doctor  went  away  in  a  turmoil  of 
conflicting  emotions,  and  had  a  narrow  escape  of  killing  a  patient 
that  afternoon  by  writing  a  prescription  wrong  1 


CHAPTER  IX 

t 

OP  THE  NEW  TENANTS  AT  NO.  40,  AND  HOW  MB.  HEATH  MADE  THEIR 
ACQUAINTANCE.  OF  THE  CATS'  BONES,  AND  OF  DR.  JOHNSON's  INFATU- 
ATION. 

The  ground  floor  and  basement  at  No.  40  did  not  find  occupants 
very  quickly.  The  landlord  was  able  to  wait  for  his  money,  and 
naturally  preferred  waiting  for  a  large  sum  to  waiting  for  a  small 
one.  A  trait  of  this  sort  makes  us  feel  that  landlords  are  human 
too,  as  well  as  tenants.  For  no  doubt  the  latter,  if  they  could 
sleep  with  comfort  in  the  gutter,  would  wait  for  small  rents,  by 
choice. 

Pope  &  Chappell,  the  stained-glass  window  makers  in  the  next 
street  were  able  to  wait  until  midsummer,  when  they  had  received 
notice  to  quit,  as  the  house  was  coming  down.  But  they  were  not 
prepared  to  go  to  a  hundred  and  twenty  for  the  premises  at  No.  40. 
Chappell  was  of  a  weak  and  timorous  nature,  and  in  view  of  the 
exact  suitability  of  those  premises,  would  fain  have  hurried  mat- 
ters and  at  once  secured  them.  But  Pope,  who  was  astute  and  far- 
sighted  and  wiry,  and  had  a  wall-eye,  refused  to  listen  to  the 
whisperings  of  pusillanimity,  and  pointed  out  his  reasons  to 
Chappell,  whom  he  called  too  cautious  a  bird  by  half. 

"I  took  stock  of  'im,"  said  he,  referring  to  the  landlord  of  No. 
40,  after  an  interview  in  which  he  had  offered  £60  a  year,  on  con- 
dition that  he,  the  landlord,  should  put  everything  into  startling 
order,  reconstruct  most  things,  and  paint  all  surfaces  except  the 
window-panes  with  four  coats  of  good  oil  paint,  two  flat  and  two 
round. 

"I  took  stock  of  'im,  Mr.  Chappell,  and  you  mark  my  words! 
We  shall  get  those  premises  for  three,  five,  or  seven  at  ninety-five, 
lawful  wear  and  tear  dooly  permitted,  and  knock  'em  about  just  as 
we  like." 

And  Mr.  Pope  went  on  touching  up  a  head  with  tar-oil  and  a 
stippling  brush,  while  his  partner  (who  couldn't  paint)  busied 
himself  on  a  working  drawing  of  lead-lines.  The  advantage  of 
having  something  to  do  while  you  talk  is  that  you  take  time  to 
think  of  what  you  are  going  to  say,  and  pretend  it  is  because  you 

83 


84  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

are  grappling  with  a  crisis.  Mr.  Chappell  took  so  much  time  that 
Mr.  Pope,  who  was  able  to  paint  the  right-hand  thief  in  a  three- 
Jight  crucifixion  and  talk  at  the  same  moment,  spoke  again  before 
he  found  anything  to  say: 

"This  landlord  chap  he  wasn't  born  yesterday.  I  as  good  as 
heard  him  say  to  'imself,  'These  two  Johnnies  '11  come  back  a  week 
before  Lady-Day  and  make  me  a  'andsome  offer.'  Do  you  suppose 
he  don't  see  we  want  the  place  ?  Of  course  he  does !  /  took  stock 
of  'im." — Mr.  Pope,  like  Mr.  Jerrythought,  dropped  his  aspirates. 
But  never  as  if  he  did  it  in  fun.  It  was  always  plain  that  he 
couldn't  help  it.    Jeff,  on  the  contrary,  seemed  to  think  it  humorous. 

Mr.  Chappell  pretended  the  leads  were  easy,  just  this  minute,  and 
asked  his  partner  what  he  made  of  that  ? 

"Only  this: — ^he  thinks  he  can  rely  on  us  for  one-twenty.  So 
the  next  Johnny  who  comes  for  the  crib  he'll  say  one-thirty  to. 
Twig  ?     Safe  for  one-twenty ;  try  for  one-thirty,  says  he !" 

"But  suppose  his  new  man  takes  them  at  one-thirty  ?" 

"Naw  feeah!" — Mr.  Pope  gained  force  for  this  expression  of 
faith  in  the  next  Johnny's  worldly  prudence  by  speaking  through 
his  nose,  which  he  placed  slightly  on  one  side  for  the  purpose. 

"But  why  let  this  landlord  chap  see  we  want  the  place  ?  Where's 
the  sense  of  being  so  transparent?" 

"To  advantage  it,  Mr.  Chappell.    Have  you  got  the  idear  ?" 

"No,  I  haven't." 

"Well,  but  it's  like  so  much  daylight.  Just  you  go  on  (in  your 
innocence  and  simplicity)  meaning  to  give  one-twenty,  and  last 
minute  change  your  mind.  Just  the  end  of  the  quarter — you  see! 
Only  mind  you — ^you  must  play  fair,  and  really  mean  it — ^because 
folk  are  that  cunning  and  suspicious,  you  can't  foxy  'em  without 
resortin'  to  honesty." 

"Well,  Mr.  Pope,  we  must  hope  you're  right.  But  you're  head- 
strong— ^you're  headstrong!  I  should  have  said — close  with  one- 
twenty,  with  immediate  possession,  and  get  out  of  this  as  fast  as 
we  can.    We  shall  have  it  down  on  our  heads " 

"Not  we,"  said  the  astute  one.  "Spring  Gardens  ain't  con- 
demning these  premises  because  they're  ruinous,  but  because  they 
can  compel  to  set  back,  and  get  the  line  of  the  street,  on  rebuilding. 
Spring  Gardens  ain't  so  green  as  you'd  think — ^judging  from  the 
name !" 

Whether  Mr.  Pope  was  right  or  wrong  in  his  views  about  Munic- 
ipal Government  at  that  date  is  no  concern  of  ours.  We  merely 
record  what  he  said.  Our  reasons  for  giving  the  conversation  at 
all  are  not  quite  clear  to  ourselves,  because  all  we  want  is  to  know 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  86 

that  Pope  &  Chappell  took  the  basement  and  ground  floor  of  No. 
40  on  a  lease  at  a  rental  of  £110  annually,  and  that  the  workmen 
came  in  at  Lady-Day  to  do  it  up,  Messrs.  P.  &  C.  having  under- 
taken to  put  the  place  in  thorough  repair,  and  keep  it  so,  in  return 
for  a  year  rent-free. 

But  having  written  out  this  conversation,  it  may  stand.  For 
you  may  be  interested  in  observing  that  had  it  not  been  for  Mr. 
Pope's  far-sighted  policy  just  after  Christmas,  when  due  notice 
came  to  clear  out  at  Midsummer,  the  stained-glass  firm  might  have 
taken  possession  forthwith,  and  Alice  might  never  have  gone  for 
the  beer — from  that  house  at  least — and  then  Hyde  Park  Gardens 
would  have  known  nothing  about  her.  See  how  this  thing  hangs 
on  that,  and  that  on  t'other;  and  then  moralise  if  you  think  you 
will  be  any  the  wiser  for  doing  so.    We  don't ! 

Pope  &  Chappell  stipulated  to  be  allowed  to  place  a  furnace  for 
glass-firing  in  the  vaults,  wherever  convenient,  and  to  utilise  an 
external  flue  on  the  side  of  the  house.  This  was  not  done  without 
the  sanction  of  the  Insurance  Office,  who  sent  a  guileless  and  in- 
experienced youth,  who  evidently  knew  nothing  about  fire,  and 
little  about  other  subjects,  to  inspect  and  report.  They  departed 
from  the  wholesome  practice  of  declining  to  insure  unless  there  was 
no  risk  of  fire — but  then  the  landlord  of  the  premises  was  a  Direc- 
tor. So  in  the  early  days  of  April  after  the  January  in  which  we 
began,  Charles  Heath  and  his  friend  Jeff  found  ingress  and  egress 
difficult  owing  to  agglomerations  of  planks  and  pails  and  trestles 
in  the  entrance-hall  of  the  house.  Positive  assurances  that  they 
wouldn't  be  in  your  way  didn't  carry  conviction  to  a  mind  in- 
volved in  a  forest  of  trestle-legs,  solicitous  for  the  preservation  of 
its  owner's  clothes  from  a  cataract  of  whitewash,  and  apprehensive 
of  the  worst  consequences  to  his  hat  from  the  selfish  preoccupation 
of  persons  overhead.  It  was  small  consolation  to  know  that  strip- 
ping and  clear-coating  would  be  done  by  Thursday,  when  our 
natural  satisfaction  at  seeing  the  last  of  such  cheerless  operations 
was  to  be  blighted  by  a  revelation  of  the  time  the  painting  itaelf 
was  going  to  take  afterwards. 

"It's  all  very  fine,  Jeff,"  said  Charles,  after  eliciting  figures 
from  the  builders'  foreman — "but  you  look  in  Vasari.  I'm  sure 
Michael  Angelo  didn't  take  as  long  as  that  over  the  Sistine 
Chapel." 

"You  ain't  countin'  for  the  difference  between  oil-paint  and 
fresco,  'Eath.  Only  one  coat  in  fresco."  But  this  was  only  Mr. 
Jeff's  pleasantry. 

When  Pope  &  Chappell  came,  in  earnest,  they  burst  out  on  th(» 


86  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

front  door  as  an  eruption  of  black  letters  on  a  brass  plate.  It  was 
splendid,  and  you  could  find  out  what  it  spelled  by  asking  the  name 
of  the  Finn  at  the  Office  on  the  ground  floor.  But  it  was  as  dif- 
ficult to  read  as  Oscan. 

A  rubric  in  the  Vulgate  was  legible,  and  said  Office-Bell,  in  a 
corner  at  the  bottom.  For  a  fiction  existed  that  trade  was  not 
tolerated  in  that  house,  based  on  some  clause  in  the  lease.  This 
could  only  be  known  to  people  great  enough  to  communicate  with 
the  Estate — an  Isis  behind  a  veil,  to  whom  she  of  Sais  was  publicity 
itself.  Even  the  Landlord's  eye  had  not  seen  her,  nor  his  ear 
heard,  and  he  could  only  communicate  with  her  through  her  solici- 
tor, who  would  give  you  a  receipt  for  money,  but  would  reveal 
nothing. 

Mr.  Jeff,  being  a  free  and  easy  sort  of  fellow,  soon  picked  up 
acquaintance  with  the  Firm.  Charles  Heath  showed  reserve,  and 
was  condemned  by  Mr.  Pope  as  stand-offish.  Perhaps  he  was.  But 
then  when  you  have  an  impression  that  a  person  is  a  howling  cad — 
whatever  the  exact  meaning  of  that  expression  may  be — and 
say  so,  no  one  will  be  surprised  that  you  do  not  court  his 
society. 

"He  ain't  exactly  that,  'Eath,'*  said  Jeff,  the  tolerant — "His 
game  isn't  your  game — but  he  ain't  a  bad  chap." — Jeff  levelled 
everybody  up  and  down,  and  was  secretly  of  opinion  that  his  friend 
Heath  was  given  to  riding  the  'igh  'orse.  Possibly  he  was.  He 
didn't  dismount  on  this  occasion  though. 

"What  is  his  little  game,  Jeff?  Have  you  made  that  out?" 
said  he.  Whereupon  Jeff  took  time  to  consider,  and  didn't  seem  to 
consider  quickly.  And  Charles  repeated — "What  is  his  game? 
That's  what  I  want  to  know." 

Jeff  evaded  the  point — -"Of  course  he's  not  a  Royal  Academy 
Artist.  Meddles  and  'og's-hair  brushes  and  screw-up  easels  and 
things.  It's  a  sort  of  trade — kind  of  Drapery  business.  I  say, 
'Eath,  such  a  rummy  start!" — And  Charles  relinquished  his  en- 
quiring about  Mr.  Pope's  game,  to  hear  about  the  rummy  start. — 
"What  is,  Jeff  ?"  said  he. 
■  "Pope's  a  Protestant  and  Chappell's  a  Catholic!" 

"Well,  of  course  it  ought  to  be  the  other  way  round — ^Pope  ought 

to  be  a  Catholic  and  Chappell  ought  to  be  a  Protestant "    But 

Jeff  didn't  understand  points  of  this  sort. 

"I  found  out  why  and  all  about  it,"  said  he.  "It's  because  of 
the  trade.  According  to  the  shop  the  order  comes  from.  When 
it's  a  Catholic,  Pope  turns  ChappeU  on.  When  it's  a  Protestant, 
versy  vicerl" 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  87 

"I  see!  It's  so  much  more  conscientious  for  both."  But  Jeff 
couldn't  understand  it  on  those  lines. 

"It's  like  the  'Appy  Family  in  a  cage  in  Endell  Street,"  he 
said.  "I  should  have  thought  they  would  bum  each  other  alive, 
like  Guy  Foxes !" 

"Why  don't  you  write  a  short  comprehensive  History  of  England, 
Jeff?" 

"Well — ^you  know  they  used  to  cook  each  other,  like  steaks, 
once." — And  Charles  thought  he  could  see  in  this  a  memory  of 
Mr.  Jeff's  childhood,  with  a  detail  misunderstood.  The  latter 
continued:  "Chappell  receives  the  Catholic  customers.  Pope  does 
all  the  other  sorts." 

"Have  they  got  plenty  of  work  on  hand  ?" 

"Heaps  and  heaps!  Don't  know  which  way  to  turn!  Didn't 
you  see  that  window-light  stuck  up  outside  last  week?" 

"Yes,  I  thought  it  looked  as  if  it  didn't  know  which  way  to  turn  I 
Staring  straight  at  you,  like  Electro-biology.    What  about  it?" 

"Well !     That  was  for  her  Majesty." 

"I  wish  her  joy  of  it,  I'm  sure."  But  for  all  Charles  was  so 
high  and  mighty  and  scornful,  he  felt  a  sort  of  curiosity  about  the 
stained-glassmongers. 

Jeff's  account  of  them  was  correct  as  far  as  it  related  to  their 
division  of  labour.  The  fact  is  that  the  Dissensions  of  the 
Churches  among  themselves,  and  the  further  dissensions  of  Dis- 
senters, are  an  embarrassment  to  the  Ecclesiastical  decorative 
artist,  who  is  reluctantly  forced  to  take  the  numerous  creeds  of  his 
clients  into  consideration.  If  it  were  not  for  the  Variety  of 
Treatment  for  which  they  afford  openings  he  would  wish  them  all 
at  Jericho — the  creeds,  not  the  clients, 

Mr.  Jeff's  having  made  acquaintance  with  the  ground-floor  and 
basement  tended  to  bring  the  first  floor  also  in  contact  with  them. 
But  as  time  went  on  another  attractive  force  presented  itseK,  in 
Alice's  associations  with  this  scene  of  her  early  childhood.  At 
Hyde  Park  Gardens  the  child  became  more  and  more  a  favourite 
with  the  household;  which,  without  definitely  announcing  its  in- 
tentions, made  up  its  mind  not  to  part  with  her.  A  vague  purpose 
of  sending  her  to  some  sort  of  school,  not  yet  discovered,  hung 
about  the  responsible  seniors,  but  seemed  capable  of  indefinite 
procrastination.  Peggy  took  her  education  in  hand,  and  the 
household  generally  considered  it  had  a  mission  to  make  her  make 
herself  useful.  She  was  very  apt  and  clever,  and  we  may  assure 
readers  that  in  this  story  there  is  no  fear  of  Alice  suffering  from 
mental  or  moral  neglect.    It  may  even  be  questioned  whether  her 


88  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

moral  culture  might  not  have  been  allowed  to  lapse  at  intervals — ■ 
the  whole  household  having  combined  (so  it  seemed  to  Alice)  in 
bringing  to  bear  on  her  a  heavy  fire  of  maxims — a  phrase  which 
strikes  one  somehow  as  familiar.  But  these  were  the  old-fashioned 
sort,  such  as — "Little  girls  should  be  seen,  not  heard." — "Speak 
when  you're  spoken  to — do  as  you're  bid." — "  'Waste  not,  want  not,' 
was  the  title  of  the  book." — And  so  forth.  Peggy  had  no  gun,  or 
never  fired  it.  Therefore  she  was  the  natural  recipient  of  con- 
fidences which  of  course  never  would  have  been  given  to  Partridge, 
who  was  very  good  and  kind,  but  for  all  that  never  to  be  relied  on 
not  to  improve  you.  Now  Alice  could  always  talk  to  Peggy  with- 
out fear  of  amelioration.  Consequently  she  told  a  great  deal  of 
her  old  life  at  No.  40,  and  at  previous  domiciles.  And  however 
nonsensical  or  fictitious  her  narratives  seemed,  Peggy  always 
listened  to  them  patiently,  rather  hoping  she  would  hear  something 
further  about  the  lidy  with  the  spots.  But  this  story  seemed  to 
have  been  told  complete,  the  first  time  she  heard  it,  and  no  new 
light  came. 

There  was,  however,  a  frequent  reference  to  the  cellar-door  be- 
yond the  grite  iron  gite.  It  was  Alice's  first  experience  of  the  grisly 
mystery  of  the  subterranean — of  the  sort  of  romance  that  belongs 
to  the  Catacombs  of  Paris  and  the  dark  arches  of  the  Adelphi,  and 
(with  less  of  soil  and  horror)  to  the  crypt  of  St.  Paul's  or  any 
great  Cathedral;  to  rock  sepulchres  or  the  heart  of  the  Pyramids, 
even  to  the  endless  cavern  that  swallows  Alph  the  sacred  river  and 
leads  to  a  sunless  sea.  All  of  us  have  felt  the  fascination  of  the 
underground,  and  Alice's  imagination  went  back  and  back  to  this 
dirty  door  in  the  back  area. — "But  I  never  theed  anything  come 
out,"  she  said,  in  reply  to  a  question  asked — "they  all  thtopped 
inthide.  Yeth!" — And  Alice  nodded  impressively  to  her  ques- 
tioners, who  were  Charles  and  Peggy. — "Well,  Miss  Kavanagh," 
said  the  former — "one  of  these  days  we'll  have  'em  all  out,  and 
get  a  good  look  at  'em." — Alice  thought  him  rash,  but  courageous. 

This  was  before  Pope  &  Chappell  came  on  the  scene.  When 
they  first  took  possession  it  looked  as  if  the  idea  of  exploring  this 
xepulsive  cavern  must  be  given  up.  But  when  Charles,  glancing 
one  summer  morning  down  into  the  area,  saw  workmen  actually 
going  in  and  out  of  this  very  vault,  of  which  they  had  daringly 
broken  through  the  barriers,  he  resolved  in  spite  of  his  dislike  for 
the  howling  cad,  and  his  not  too  favourable  impression  of  the  new 
tenants,  to  court  their  acquaintance  to  the  extent  of  obtaining  an 
ingress  into  the  basement,  and  to  remount  the  high  horse  after- 
wards if  it  seemed  necessary  to  do  so. 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  '   89 

*'Goin'  in  for  bein'  f orgivin',  are  we,  'Eath  ?"  said  Mr.  Jeff,  when 
one  day  Charles  expressed  an  interest  in  stained-glass  windows, 
and  said  he  shouldn't  mind  seeing  what  those  chaps  downstairs 
were  doing. 

"You'll  have  to  explain,  Jeff,  that  I  don't  want  to  put  up  a 
memorial  window,  and  that  I  know  no  one  that  does.  Make  'em 
understand  that  I  and  all  my  family  circle  wish  to  be  forgotten, 
if  possible." — Mr.  Jerrythought  gave  a  knowing  introspective 
nod.— "I'll  attend  to  it,"  said  he. 

"And  I  say,  Jeff,  look  here.  I  think  you  might  give  them  a  hint 
that  what  interests  me  is  the  firing — and  the  sticking  together,  and 
all  that.  Because  I  don't  want  to  have  to  admire  their  blessed 
designs !" 

"You  let  me  alone — I'll  fix  you  up,  'Eath." — And  Charles  had 
to  be  contented  with  that  much  safeguard. 

When  Mr.  Jeff  introduced  his  friend  to  the  partnership  below, 
he  did  it  with  perspicuous  candour,  and  no  small  amount  of  what 
may  have  been  tact,  as  it  seemed  to  work  very  well.  Whatever  it 
was,  there  was  plenty  of  it. 

"'Here's  my  friend  'Eath — first  floor !  He  don't  want  to  put  up  a 
memorial  window,  he  don't!  He's  a  reg'lar  artist,  color-tubes, 
tones,  middle-distances,  light  and  shade — that's  his  gag!  Royal 
Academy  Artist.  Now  you  two  customers,  I  take  it,  are  quite 
another  pair  of  shoes.  Dim  religious  light — dignity — simplicity — 
avoidance  of  vulgarity — devotional  feeling — that's  your  gag!  All 
right,  old  cock!  I  know.  I  got  it  out  of  the  noospaper  you  lent 
me.  It's  all  right,  I  know." — And  Mr.  Jeff  felt  that  he  was  doing 
justice  alike  to  pictorial  and  monumental  Art. 

"'Appy  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Heath!"  said  Mr. 
Pope.  "Our  friend  is  pokin'  his  fun!  I  don't  mind  him,  if  yon 
don't." — And  Mr.  Chappell  observed  that  everybody  knew  Mr. 
Jeff — !    But  there  was  a  trace  of  dignity  in  his  tone. 

"Mustn't  let  me  disturb  you,  Mr.  Chappell,"  said  Charles — ad- 
dressing Pope  by  his  partner's  name;  Jeff's  correction — "This  is 
Mr.  Chappell" — cutting  across  his  error.  We  daresay  this  seems 
to  you  almost  too  trivial  a  thing  to  notice  in  a  narrative.  But  you 
are  mistaken  if  you  think  so — for  it  made  a  considerable  differ- 
ence in  Charles's  attitude  to  Mr.  Pope.  His  chivalrous  nature 
felt  that  compensation  was  due  to  that  gentleman  for  calling  him 
out  of  his  name,  and  he  became  proportionately  civil  to  him.  We 
believe  there  are  stolid  philosophical  lives  that  are  quite  uninflu- 
enced by  minutiae  of  this  sort — but  we  have  not  had  the  luck  to 
lead  one  of  them  ourselves.    Charles  was  really  intensely  suscepti- 


90  ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 

ble  on  such  points,  although  for  working  purposes  he  always 
affected  a  Spartan  fortitude.  In  this  case  the  result  was  the  dis- 
appearance from  his  next  speech  of  a  faint  trace  of  loftiness  and 
condescension  shown  in  his  first. 

"It's  rather  a  shame  of  me  and  Jeff  to  come  and  break  into  your 
daylight.  But  then  I  thought  we  shouldn't  see  well  later,  and 
Jeff  said  you  had  a  big  bit  of  work  completing,  so  we  came  down." 
— The  concession  made  here  was  that  Charles  had  contemplated 
bald  indifference  to  the  hierarchy,  and  had  schemed  to  get  to  the 
cellar  as  soon  as  possible  under  pretext  of  yearning  for  technical 
information.  Now  that  he  had  put  himseK  in  Mr.  Pope's  debt,  he 
would  liquidate  it  by  deference  to  the  aesthetic  side  of  decoration. 
Pope  and  Chappell  mused  a  moment  before  either  replied — reflect- 
ing as  a  Firm  reflects  when  its  counsels  are  harmonious.  "Canon 
Shuter's  window,  I  suppose." — "More  likely  Dr.  Creed's." — "Which 
is  Dr.  Creed's?" — "That  three-light  lancet,  for  Bishopskerswell." 

"One  I  saw  was  for  her  Majesty,"  struck  in  Mr.  Jeff. — Mr.  Pope 
smiled  benignly. 

"We  don't  aspire  to  that  heikth,"  said  he. — "What  you  gentle- 
men saw  on  the  staircase  was  what  we  professionally  term  a 
Majesty — not  her  Majesty,  you  see,  like  Mr.  Jerrythought  misun- 
derstood it.  We  were  referrin'  to  the  figure  itself — not  the  client. 
Oh,  I  assure  you,  Mr.  'Eath,  the  difficulties  of  dealin'  with  this 

class  of  subject,  especially  in  telegrams "    Chappell  interrupted 

Pope  at  this  point. 

"I've  got  to  go  downstairs,"  said  he — "I'll  tell  Joe  to  bring  all 
three  lights  up.  Oh  yes,  they're  ready!  He  was  just  sawdusting 
•off  the  face  of  the  middle  one  when  I  was  down  an  hour  ago," 
and  Chappell  departed,  and  in  due  course  Joe's  footsteps  came 
outside,  and  segments  of  window  were  introduced  and  deposited 
to  wait  for  more. 

"My  partner  he's  particular,"  said  Pope,  to  explain  Chappell,  as 
he  seemed  to  think  he  needed  it. — "And  yet  he  ain't  a  family  man 
like  me." — And  went  on  to  narrate  how  difficult  he  fotmd  it  to 
explain  sacred  symbolic  imagery  to  his  little  boy  Kit,  four  years 
old,  who  asked  questions.  And  presently  when  the  great  work  was 
being  held  up,  Charles  perceived  the  drift  of  this  conversation,  as 
no  doubt  you  have  done.  But  he  wondered  at  the  humility  of  Mr. 
Pope's  tone,  about  his  range  of  patronage,  as  contrasted  with  his 
range  of  portraiture ! 

A  certain  amount  of  inspection  of  results  was  unavoidable,  to 
pave  the  way  for  an  approach  to  the  interesting  means  by  which 
they  were  attained.    In  all  the  technical  or  applied  Arts  it  is  neces- 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  91 

sary  (or  at  any  rate  politic)  to  affect  a  satisfaction  we  do  not  feel, 
and  don't  believe  the  Artist  feels  either,  at  the  final  outcome  of  so 
much  patience  and  effort.  If  some  pretence  of  this  sort  were  not 
kept  up  where  would  be  the  raison  d'etre  of  all  our  cottage  indus- 
tries; all  our  art  needleworks,  and  ceramics;  all  our  unmitigated 
training-schools,  and  disgraceful  exhibitions?  Unless  somebody 
sometimes  did  the  enjoyment,  how  could  the  rapid  conversion  of 
the  whole  population  into  Art-Students,  Art-Teachers,  Art- 
Artists  generally  be  justified?  If  it  were  to  be  candidly  admitted 
that  nobody  cares  twopence  about  Art-Arteries  when  they  are 
completed,  yet  boldly  affirmed  that  everybody  wants  to  have  a  hand 
in  making  some  more,  how  would  it  be  possible  to  convince  spare 
cash  that  it  ought  to  purchase  Art-Objects  ?  Would  it  not  snap  its 
fingers  at  Art-Apologists,  and  turn  its  attention  to  the  prosaic 
realities  of  life — motor-cars  or  beef -extract,  tenement-dwellings  or 
chemical  food,  dynamite  or  two-hundred- ton  guns?  Something 
really  useful? 

Whether  Charles  dissected  his  own  mind  when  he  affected  rap- 
tures at  Pope  &  Chappell's  windows,  who  shall  say?  He  may 
have  said  to  himself  that  it  would  be  illogical  to  wish  to  examine 
a  kiln  in  the  contents  of  which  he  felt  no  interest  whatever,  unless 
he  first  contrived  an  atmosphere  of  justification  for  them,  a  sanc- 
tion of  factitious  enthusiasm.  Or  it  may  have  been  simply  the  gen- 
erous impulse  of  youth  to  admire,  that  is  so  apt  to  develop  when 
the  producer  of  an  achievement  is  actually  in  the  room  with  it, 
and  can  be  talked  to.  We  rather  think  it  was  this,  ourselves,  and 
that  Charles  was  (not  to  be  too  philosophical)  a  good-natured 
chap  who  saw  it  gave  pleasure  to  the  perpetrators  thereof  when  he 
admired  the  beastly  rot  of  Messrs.  Pope  &  Chappell.  For  that 
was  what  he  called  it  in  confidence  afterwards  to  Mr.  Jeff. 

However,  he  no  doubt  succeeded  in  giving  full  satisfaction,  for 
he  and  his  friend  went  downstairs  into  the  old  basement  to  investi- 
gate the  mysteries.  Limewash,  paint,  and  window-cleaning  had 
done  wonders;  so  had  new  sashes  where  necessary;  so  had  new 
woodwork  where  not  necessary,  but  only  costin'  a  few  shillins  more, 
as  the  sayin'  (unknown)  was,  than  breakin'  up  and  puttin'  to- 
gether:— sim'lar,  you  had  to  take  account  of  carriage.  Sim'lar, 
you  take  an  old  bench  with  nails  drove  in,  and  spile  a  plane,  and 
there  you  are*  You  don't  save  nothin'  in  the  end.  So,  as  in  this 
case,  you  decide  on  many  squares  of  yellow  deal,  and  unlimited 
carpenter;  and  whatever  your  bill  is,  you  smell,  delightful,  and 
feel  antiseptic. 

The  great  gate,  or  grite  gite,  had  been  ruthlessly  opened,  and 


92  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

been  done  Brunswick  black,  cbeval-de-frise  and  all.  The  myste- 
rious door  was  off  its  hinges,  which  were  rusted  through,  long 
ages  ago;  as  were  the  bolts  and  chain  that  had  curbed  the  liberty 
and  baffled  the  evil  desires  of  so  many  fiends  and  goblins,  and 
kept  them  for  so  many  years  from  getting  at  inoffensive  persons' 
toes  in  ill-tucked-up  beds.  Who  could  be  safe,  now  they  were  gone  ? 
The  vault  inside  was  spacious;  had  been  some  sort  of  wash-house 
or  laundry,  and  had  for  some  reason  had  its  window  built  up. 
The  windows  had  been  replaced,  but  it  was  a  glorious  greenish 
window  now,  filled  with  what  some  called  bottle-ends,  and  others 
German  rounds,  in  those  days;  so  that  you  expected  a  profile  of 
Elaine  or  Enid,  and  didn't  get  it.  There  had  been  a  stove  or  fur- 
nace of  some  kind  in  former  years,  as  a  flue  crossed  the  area  to 
the  house.  This  was  being  utilised  for  the  temporary  small  kiln 
that  had  come  from  the  old  shop.  But  a  much  larger  one  was 
coming,  and  the  floor  was  taken  up  in  one  corner  to  make  a  foun- 
dation and  get  a  clear  start. 

"I  suppose  you  found  plenty  of  cats  in  here,"  said  Charles  to 
Pope  and  Chappell.  The  latter  had  come  with  them  into  the 
vault,  and  then  had  to  attend  to  something.  Pope,  though  he  had 
been  so  hard  at  work  as  to  be  unable  to  relinquish  his  mahl-stick, 
and  had  come  away  with  a  brush  in  his  mouth,  seemed  to  have 
indefinite  leisure  at  his  disposal.  He  took  the  brush  out  to  answer 
Charles's  cat-remark. 

"Rather!"  said  he,  sardonically. — "But  you  should  ask  'Aycroft. 
Eh! — 'Aycroft?  This  gentleman  was  asking  if  you'd  'appened 
to  see  any  cats?" — 

Haycroft  was  the  bricklayer,  who  was  busy  with  his  footings. 
He  cast  about  for  some  form  of  speech  which  would  allow  of  the 
development  of  a  grievance,  as  is  the  manner  of  his  kind.  He 
considered  and  spoke : 

"I  don't  know  what  you  call  cats.  I  should  have  called  'em 
cats,  myself ;  but  there's  no  tellin',  nowadays !" 

"How  many  were  there,  Mr.  Haycroft?" 

"Wot — the  number  of  them  ?  Well,  Sir,  as  to  countin'  of  'em,  I 
left  that  to  them  as  can  find  time  for  countin'.  I've  got  my  'ands 
pretty  full  here,  I  can  tell  you.  It  wouldn't  do  for  me  to  stand 
still,  to  be  countin'  cats.  All  I  see  of  'em  I  tell  you.  And  I  should 
have  called  'em  cats  myself.  But  as  I  say,  there's  no  knowin' !" — 
Charles's  innocent  attempt  to  make  conversation  had  been  mis- 
interpreted, and  he  felt  hurt.  His  friend  Jeff,  with  more  insight 
into  bricklayers,  pursued  the  subject: 

"Two  'undred,  'Aycroft?     Will  you  let  'em  go  at  that?"— He 


ALICE-rOR-SHORT  98 

dropped  his  h's  ostentatiously  to  get  on  a  sympathetic  level  with 
Mr.  Haycroft. 

"Couldn't  say.  Sir.  Near  about,  I  should  think.  How  many 
should  you  reckon  run  out.  Greasy,  when  we  broke  open  the  door?'^ 
— As  the  labourer  addressed  did  not  look  like  an  Italian,  the 
natural  conclusion  was  that  his  name  was  as  we  have  spelled  it. 
He  gave  his  mind  to  a  conscientious  reckoning. 

"Rather  better  than  half-a-dozen,  Mr.  Haycroft.  I  should  say 
seven,  but  I  might  have  said  eight.  Likewise  there  was  a  tabby 
hid  in  the  copper  'ole,  and  a  black  tom  went  away  up  the  flue  and 

never  come  down " 

•  "Wot  did  I  tell  you?"  said  Mr.  Haycroft,  triumphantly.  "Any 
number  of  'em !  And  the  whole  place  as  full  of  dead  'uns  as  ever 
it'll  hold." 

"I  don't  see  any  dead  cats." — But  Mr.  Haycroft  scorned  to  reply 
directly  to  this  remark  of  Mr.  Pope.  He  turned  to  Greasy. — 
"Where  have  you  put  all  them  cats'  bones?"  said  he. 

"On  that  ledge  behind  your  elber,"  said  Greasy. — "No!  Higher 
up!  Right  you  are." — And  Mr.  Haycroft,  with  a  passing  com- 
ment on  the  ledge,  as  a  specially  ill-chosen  place  to  put  away  cats' 
bones  on — "Where  any  one  might  chance  to  knock  'em  down,  any 
minute" — held  them  out  in  the  pahn  of  his  hand  as  a  conclusive 
proof  of  accuracy  wrongly  impeached.  "Cats'  bones — like  what  I 
said !" — And  turned  again  to  measurement  as  one  who  had  testi- 
fied truly,  and  was  now  called  away  to  other  duties. 

The  positiveness  of  Mr.  Haycroft's  tone,  and  his  contradictious 
attitude,  cast  a  glamour  of  controversy  over  the  conversation  which 
Charles  had  not  had  any  intention  of  provoking.  He  now  felt  him- 
self so  entangled  in  cats  as  to  be  somehow  bound  to  examine  the 
bones  held  out  to  him  by  the  bricklayer.  He  held  them  in  his  hand 
looking  at  them  longer  than  Mr.  Jeff  thought  the  occasion  re- 
quired. Possibly  it  was  the  doubt  whether  he  should  hand  the 
bones  back,  which  seemed  ridiculous;  or  throw  them  away,  which 
seemed  contemptuous.  Mr.  Jeff  did  not  guess  at  any  other 
reason. 

But,  Mr.  Chappell  returning  at  this  point,  the  talk  turned  away 
to  other  matters,  such  as  the  structure  of  kilns,  the  relative  advan- 
tages of  coke  and  gas,  and  so  forth.  Presently  Charles  recurred 
quite  suddenly  to  the  cats'  bones,  as  if  he  had  been  thinking  of 
them. — "Where  did  you  say  you  found  the  bones,  Mr.  Haycroft?"  he 
asked.  And  so  much  did  he  seem  to  ask  as  though  he  really  had 
some  motive,  that  his  question  absolutely  received  a  direct  answer. 
The  bones  had  come  out  of  the  ground  when  it  was  opened. — "Just 


94  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

under  where  I'm  standing,"  said  Greasy,  the  labourer — "as  if  the 
cats  had  been  a-burying  of  'em,"  he  added. 

"This  brick  floor's  been  took  up,  one  time,"  said  Haycroft. — 
"And  it  ain't  maiden  ground  underneath.  It's  made  ground.  It's 
been  took  up  and  filled  in.  Whoever  filled  it  in  might  have  thrown 
in  a  dead  cat,  as  easy  as  not." — Having  committed  himself  to  the 
view  that  the  bones  were  cats',  it  was  necessary  to  fit  all  other 
facts  to  the  theory;  and,  although  cats,  if  they  did  inter  their  rela- 
tives, might  not  remove  a  brick  floor  to  do  it,  that  could  never  be 
allowed  to  stand  in  the  way.  Mr.  Haycroft,  having  inferred  the 
dead  cat  from  the  live  cats,  had  to  imagine  some  means  of  getting  it 
through  the  pavement,  and  did  it  accordingly.  Mr.  Pope  per-* 
ceived  a  difficulty,  and  advanced  a  new  theory  to  meet  it. 

"Dogs'  bones,  Mr.  'Aycrof t !  That's  what  they  are,  clear  enough ! 
Lady's  pet  dog.  Wanted  it  buried  in  the  'ouse.  No  yard  nor 
garden.  Gave  it  to  the  butler  to  bury,  and  he  put  in  here.  Little 
King  Charles  span'l,  with  long  flop  ears.  Nothin'  more  likely." — 
And  the  details  of  this  groundless  romance  recommended  it 
strongly.  But  expert  testimony  from  the  bricklayer  came  to  shake 
public  opinion. 

"If  you  was  to  ask  me,"  he  said,  "I  could  tell  you — and  mind 
you!  I  ain't  talking  about  what  I  don't  understand.  Well!  If 
you  was  to  ask  me,  I  should  say  no  man  in  his  senses — I  don't  care 
if  he  was  a  butler  or  the  master  of  the  'ouse! — would  go  to  take 
up  a  'erring-boned  brick  floor  when  he  could  raise  a  stone  in  the 
airey  with  a  'arf  the  labour;  and  it  would  just  put  itself  back 
again,  as  you  might  say.  Instead  of  which,  you're  askin'  him  to 
'amper  himself  with  packin'  a  small  barrer  of  brick,  'arf  of  'em 
broke  gettin'  of  'em  out,  and  makin'  good  breakage,  and  gettin' 
well  shet  o'  bats  and  closures — all  what's  come  out  this  time's  'ole 

bricks,  and  so  I  tell  you "    And  so  forth,  until  Mr.  Chappell, 

who  at  first  had  welcomed  the  lap-dog  theory,  rounded  on  Mr. 
Pope,  and  relieved  the  butler  from  the  troublesome  job  he  had 
assigned  him.    His  inventor  wouldn't  give  him  up,  though ! 

"I  stick  to  dogs'  bones,"  said  he ;  then  feeling  that  a  compromise 
might  be  possible — "Perhaps  it  wasn't  the  butler.  They  could 
have  had  somebody  in.  Odd-job  man!  Stableboy!  Anythin'!" — 
Mr.  Pope's  imagination  faltered  at  the  coachman.  He  was  too 
majestic. 

Mr.  Chappell  had  a  theory,  but  it  was  a  weak  one  and  soon 
rejected.  He  suggested  as  sufficient  that  the  bones  were  accidental 
bones,  out  of  the  kitchen  or  anywhere,  that  had  got  dug  in  acci- 
dentally.    He   went   back   to   the   workshop — the   kitchen    where 


ALICE-FOK-SHOKT  96 

Kavanagh  had  struck  his  wife — and  Charles  went  with  him.  It  was 
used  now  for  cutting  glass  and  leading  up  lights.  A  mishap  had 
occurred  that  took  attention  from  the  bones,  which  Charles  had 
slipped  into  his  pocket.  A  diamond  had  been  lost,  having  flown 
from  its  setting,  and  a  search  was  on  foot  for  it.  When  this 
occurs  in  a  glazing  shop  everything  is  swept  up  and  sifted  through 
a  mesh  large  enough  to  let  the  diamond  through.  The  product  is 
again  sifted  through  a  mesh  large  enough  to  retain  the  diamond, 
and  then  evidently  what  comes  off  the  last  sieve  must  contain  it, 
and  sometimes  it  is  so  small  a  quantity  that  an  hour  or  so  with  a 
microscope  will  recover  the  lost  sheep.  This  amused  Charles  and 
took  his  attention  off  the  bones  for  the  time  being.  But  when  he 
went  back  to  his  room  to  change  his  coat  to  go  home  to  dinner  (for 
it  had  got  very  late)  he  remembered  to  wrap  them  in  paper  and 
put  them  in  his  other  pocket  to  take  with  him. 

When  Charles,  six  months  before,  decided  on  what  seems  to  us 
the  very  needless  and  premature  step  of  taking  a  large  expensive 
Studio  that  would  have  suited  a  fashionable  portrait-painter  in  full 
practice,  he  was  not  an  absolute  beginner  in  the  literal  sense  of 
the  words.  He  had  been  an  Academy  student  for  a  couple  of 
years,  and  had  very  nearly  got  a  medal.  He  had  attended  the 
painting  schools  and  learned  a  new  system  of  painting  flesh  every 
month,  as  each  new  visitor  came.  WTiatever  innate  ideas  on  the 
subject  of  oil-painting  he  possessed,  had  been  disorganised  and 
carefully  thrown  out  of  gear  by  the  want  of  unanimity,  or  presence 
of  pluranimity,  in  his  instructors.  But  he  had  been  an  attentive 
student  according  to  his  lights,  and  one  department  of  his  edu- 
cation had  "caught  on."  He  had  profited  by  his  anatomical 
lectures  and  demonstrations  on  dead  and  live  corpses — ^perhaps 
because  he  really  had  more  turn  for  such  studies  than  for  the 
Arts,  for  which  his  capacity  was  doubtful,  and  his  bias  probably 
imaginary. 

Therefore,  when  Mr.  Haycroft  produced  the  alleged  bones  of 
cats,  he  at  once  detected  the  mistake.  He  was  perfectly  familiar 
with  the  human  skeleton,  and  at  once  saw  that  if  these  were  not 
man's  bones,  they  were  monkeys'.  Probably  the  latter,  thought 
Charles.  Because  people  don't  bury  deceased  persons  under  floors 
in  laundries.  Perhaps  the  recent  occurrence  at  No.  40  made  it 
seem  unlikely  that  a  murder  should  have  taken  place  there  and 
been  concealed.  Didn't  seem  likely,  did  it,  that  anything  of  that 
sort  should  occur  twice  in  the  same  house?  So  Charles  decided 
on  the  monkey.    Howevei,  he  would  be  seeing  Johnson,  and  would 


96  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

ask  him.  He  felt  pretty  certain  he  would  soon  see  Johnson,  and 
he  was  right. 

When  he  got  home  he  foimd  that  his  mother  had  tickets  for  an 
interesting  Lecture.  The  subject  was  (as  reported  by  himself  to 
Peggy)  "Anticipation  in  its  Relation  to  Realisation."  But  then 
he  was  not  always  to  be  trusted.  Peggy  had  a  slight  face-ache  and 
the  night-air  might  do  harm,  so  she  thought  she  wouldn't  come, 
Charles  remarked  that  she  didn't  look  very  bad,  but  perhaps  it  was 
as  well  to  be  on  the  safe  side.  He  would  take  his  mother  to  the 
Lecture.  Por  he  was  always  a  good  son,  was  Charles.  Now  on  this 
same  evening  his  father  (according  to  him)  had  to  dine  with  the 
Cashmongers'  Company,  and  Robin  and  Ellen  were  going  to  help 
at  a  big  children's  party  with  Miss  Petherington  the  governess. 
"You'll  be  very  dull  all  by  yourseK,"  said  Charles  to  his  sister,  as 
he  and  his  mother  departed. — "No — I  shan't,"  said  she,  "I've  got  to 
finish  'The  Mill  on  the  Ploss.'  "— 

When  Charles  and  his  mother  got  home  again,  at  about  eleven 
o'clock,  none  of  the  absentees  had  returned,  and  there  was  a  gentle- 
man in  the  drawing-room  with  Miss  Heath.  Thus  Phillimore  be- 
lieved; he  was  reluctant  to  admit  knowledge  of  the  gentleman's 
identity — Thomas  had  shown  him  up.  But  the  drawing-room  was 
empty.  Phillimore  then  confided  to  his  mistress  that  he  thought 
it  possible  that  Miss  Heath  and  the  gentleman  had  stepped  out 
into  the  garden. — "It  must  be  your  cousin  Frank,  Charley,"  said 
Mrs.  Heath,  and  opened  a  letter  and  read  it,  and  then  went  on, 
some  time  after — "Hadn't  you  better  get  them  in  ?  She'll  make  her 
face  worse" — and  then  opened  another  letter  and  said — oh  dear! 
the  Selvidges  couldn't  come.  Phillimore's  back,  as  he  manipulated 
blinds  and  shutters,  was  fraught  with  reticence  and  discretion. 
But,  for  all  that,  he  had  just  said  to  himself,  as  so  old  a  retainer 
could  speak  freely  and  confidingly  to  so  respectable  a  butler: 
"Cousin  Prank,  indeed!" — 

Charles  walked  out  into  the  big  garden  that  is  neither  at  the 
back  nor  the  front  of  the  big  houses,  but  is  a  typical  nondescript, 
common  to  all  of  them.  It  was  a  glorious  July  night  with  a  nearly 
full  moon,  conscious  of  a  flaw  from  London  smoke,  for  which  one 
might,  if  one  chose,  have  imagined  the  murmur  of  the  traffic  to  be 
a  long-sustained  apology.  An  insufficient  apology — but  any  con- 
trition is  better  than  none.  So  thought  Charles  as  he  lighted  a 
cigar  and  sauntered  along  in  what  he  thought  the  best  direction 
to  take.  He  came  upon  Dr.  Johnson  and  Peggy  in  a  quiet  part 
of  the  garden,  and  was  no  more  surprised  at  finding  who  the  gen- 
tleman was  than  you  will  be  at  his  sudden  appearance  in  the  narra- 


ALICE-FOK-SHOET  97 

tive,  if  you  have  been  keeping  an  observant  eye  upon  it.  He, 
however,  was  surprised — but  it  was  a  very  flaccid  form  of  surprise 
— that  Peggy  and  her  companion  were  walking  towards  him  appa- 
rently saying  nothing.  Also  that  the  young  doctor  seemed  grave — 
downcast  perhaps?  Peggy  seemed  to  think  her  brother  wanted  an 
explanation  of  something,  which  was  not  the  case.  What  she  said 
was,  "I  had  something  I  wanted  to  say  to  Dr.  Johnson,  so  we  came 
out  here." — But  her  manner  distinctly  added,  "I  don't  want  to  be 
asked  questions  now — I  will  tell  you  some  time."  Charles  did  not 
see  what  the  saying  could  have  been  that  could  make  the  coming 
out  necessary,  but  he  held  his  peace,  and  behaved  discreetly. 

They  rejoined  Mrs.  Heath  in  the  drawing-room.  That  lady's 
demeanour,  on  seeing  that  it  wasn't  Cousin  Frank,  was  one  of  fore- 
bearance  under  suppressed  astonishment.  She  could  wait.  Mean- 
while, courtesy !  But  of  course  without  a  suggestion  that  there  was 
any  reason  why  Peggy  should  not  take  Dr.  Johnson  for  a  walk  in 
the  garden.  Nevertheless,  her  daughter  understood  something  from 
her  way  of  not  suggesting  it  that  made  her  say,  at  a  moment  when 
Charles  was  taking  the  doctor's  attention  off — "I  know.  Mamma; 
I  wanted  to  talk  to  Dr.  Johnson,  so  I  took  him  in  the  garden.  .  .  . 
Oh,  my  face-ache?    That's  gone." 

"What  do  you  make  of  'em,  Johnson?"  said  Charles.  ''What's 
the  verdict?"    He  was  showing  the  bones  from  No.  40. 

"Are  they  ofp  your  skeleton?" — for  Charles  had  an  articulated 
one,  at  the  studio. 

"Never  you  mind  what  they're  off!  What  do  you  make  of 
them?" 

"I  want  to  know  where  you  got  them." 

"Shan't  tell !    I  want  to  know  what  they  are."  . 

"The  bones  of  a  woman's  or  a  boy's  instep — hardly  large  enough 
for  a  full-grown  man's.    I  should  say  a  woman's." 

"Metatarsals — that's  right,  isn't  it?"  Charles  trots  out  his  little 
bit  of  scientific  nomenclature — is  even  inclined  to  cavil  a  little  at 
his  friend  for  calling  them  loosely  bones  of  the  instep.  What  is 
an  instep,  exactly  ?    However,  Charles  tells  the  whole  story. 

"That  is  a  most  extraordinary  and  ill-fated  house,"  says  the  doc- 
tor.    "What  o'clock  shall  you  be  there — to-morrow?" 

"Why  ?  Do  you  think  it's  a  murder  ?" — The  attention  of  the  two 
ladies  is  caught  by  the  word,  and  they  have  to  be  taken  into 
counsel.  But  the  doctor  isn't  inclined  to  jump  at  murder.  "More 
likely,"  says  he,  "medical  students'  or  artists'  skeletons.  These 
alarms  are  very  common.  But  if  the  floor  is  an  old  floor — hml 
What  o'clock  shall  you  be  there.  Heath  ?" — ^And  ten  o'clock  is  fixed 


98  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

for  next  day — the  objective  of  the  movement  being  a  further  ex- 
amination of  the  ground  in  the  vault — possibly  not  easy  of  attain- 
ment, as  it  will  involve  undoing  some  bricklayers'  work,  always  a 
troublesome  affair,  requiring  tact  and  force  of  authority  combined. 

As  Dr.  Johnson  said  good-night  to  Peggy,  Charles  caught  some 
words  that  made  him  say  to  himself :  "Oh,  well !  I  suppose  I  shall 
hear  all  about  it  some  of  these  days "  He  was  a  little  inquisi- 
tive, but  could  quite  well  wait,  as  brothers  can  wait,  and  do,  when 
their  sisters'  affairs  are  concerned.  It  isn't  that  they  are  really 
indifferent  about  their  welfare,  so  much  as  that  it  is  impossible 
for  us  men  to  take  these  things  au  grand  serieux.  However,  even 
if  Charles  had  heard  every  word,  he  wouldn't  have  been  much  the 
wiser.    This  was  the  conversation: 

"Now,  Dr.  Johnson,  you'll  have  to  forgive  me!  You  must  for- 
give me !    I  said  it  all  for  your  own  good " 

"What  can  I  do  to  show  that  I  forgive  you  ?" 

"Be  a  reasonable  man.  Go  on  coming  to  see  us — ^to  see  me,  if 
you  like  to  put  it  so.  Be  my  friend.  Only  do  be  sensible,  and  put 
nonsensical  ideas  out  of  your  head  about " 

"I  understand.    I  can't.    Good-night." 

This  was  every  word,  and  Charles  would  not  have  been  much  the 
wiser  for  hearing  it.  Of  course  he  knew  that,  during  the  past  four 
months,  the  young  medico  had  been  a  very  frequent  visitor  at  the 
house.  We  know  this  now,  and  being  much  more  sagacious  than 
Charles  was  in  matters  of  this  sort,  we  infer  a  great  deal  about  that 
interval.  We  see  in  it  a  young  man  of  good  abilities  and  fault- 
less antecedents,  decidedly  handsome  and  a  great  favourite  with 
his  friends — but,  if  you  please,  in  a  high  fever;  to  all  intents  and 
purposes,  mad.  Like  so  many  lunatics  he  is  singularly  able  to 
counterfeit  sanity — indeed  if  it  were  not  for  an  occasional  pre- 
occupation you  would  notice  nothing  in  the  least  abnormal.  But 
could  you  see  into  his  mind  you  would  be  struck  first  by  an  ex- 
traordinary rapport  that  seems  to  exist  between  him  and  Hyde  Park 
Gardens.  To  you,  no  doubt,  as  to  ourselves,  these  Gardens  are  a 
splendid  residential  property  overlooking  Hyde  Park,  a  few  min- 
utes' walk  from  the  Marble  Arch,  and  so  forth.  To  this  young  doc- 
tor they  are  the  Hub  of  the  Universe — the  centre  pivot  on  which 
all  other  created  things  revolve.  Streets  that  lead  neither  to  nor 
from  Hyde  Park  Gardens  are  stale,  flat,  unprofitable  thorough- 
fares; those  that  lead  there  are  glorified,  considered  as  approaches 
to  Hyde  Park  Gardens,  but  sinister  in  so  far  as  they  go  in  the 
opposite  direction.     You  would  find  that  whatever  he  may  be 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  99 

employed  on, — whether  he  is  writing  a  prescription  or  using  a 
stethoscope, — he  always  has  in  his  own  mind  an  image  of  himself 
in  his  relation  to  Hyde  Park  Gardens.  He  always  locates  himself 
mentally  as  east,  west,  north,  or  south  of  Hyde  Park  Gardens.  He 
appears  to  himself  to  be  mysteriously  connected  with  it  by  a  wire- 
less current,  but  he  is  not  able  to  express  it  so,  as  such  currents 
are  not  yet  discovered  or  invented.  If  you  add  to  this  that  he 
sleeps  badly,  owing  to  the  influence  of  this  current;  that  he  has 
an  almost  idiotic  habit  of  re-reading  a  few  notes  Peggy  has  written 
him,  relating  to  coming  to  dinner,  and  so  forth;  and  that  when  he 
comes,  as  may  happen,  on  the  word  Margaret,  or  the  word  Heath, 
in  print,  in  any  connection,  he  becomes  as  it  were  transfixed  and 
remains  gazing  at  the  magic  letters  until  workaday  life  jogs  him 
and  reminds  him  that  really  this  won't  do — if  you  ascribe  to  him  all 
these  qualities  and  attributes,  you  will  not  have  an  unduly  exag- 
gerated picture  in  your  mind  of  what  he  had  become  through 
not  refusing  to  see  Charles  Heath's  sister  when  Charles  proposed 
to  bring  her  in  to  talk  about  Alice's  mother.  Of  course  had  he 
been  a  prophet,  and  a  prudent  one,  he  would  have  asked  Charles 
to  keep  her  out  of  the  room;  or,  when  she  came  in,  would  have 
shut  his  eyes  tight  and  stopped  his  ears.  It  was  too  late  now. 
The  face  of  her  had  come  into  his  heart,  and  her  voice  into  his 
ears,  and  both  had  come  to  stay. 


CHAPTER  X 

OP  THE  DISTRICT  SURVEYOR.  OF  THE  NEW  KILN-FOUNDATION  AND  WHAT 
WAS  FOUND  IN  IT.  OF  ALICE^S  FATHER'S  DREAM.  HOW  ABOUT  THE 
LADY  WITH  THE  SPOTS?      OF  MISS  PEGGY's  ADORERS 

When  Dr.  Johnson  arrived  at  No.  40  at  ten  o'clock  next  morn- 
ing, excitement  was  already  turbulent  in  the  ground  floor  and  base- 
ment. He  went  straight  to  the  Studio,  where  Charles  and  Jeff 
were  reviewing  the  position,  and  heard  from  them  that  Pope  & 
Chappell  were  bristling  with  indignation  at  the  idea  of  having 
to  move  a  single  footing  in  order  to  dig  up  a  mine  of  dog's  bones, 
just  on  the  word  of  mere  anatomists !  Haycrof t  was  furious,  espe- 
cially as  he  had  liberally  surrendered  cat's  bones,  for  strategical 
purposes,  and  adopted  the  King  Charles  Spaniel;  and  then,  here 
you  were,  asking  him  to  change  again,  and  make  it  man's  bones! 
He  hated  being  minced  about;  and  as  for  undoin'  finished  brick- 
work, it  went  against  him.  "Take  it  all  down  of  course,  if  you 
like!"  he  said,  "but  not  if  you  listen  to  me  you  won't  do  any  such 
thing!"  And  went  on  to  point  out  that  if  we  gave  way  to  the 
weakness  of  paying  attention  to  persons,  circumstances,  or  things, 
there  never  wouldn't  anything  get  done.  However,  we  were  to  go 
our  own  way — he  wouldn't  say  anything ! 

"They  are  all  in  a  fine  stew  downstairs,  I  can  tell  you,"  said 
Charles.  "Haycroft,  I  believe,  is  laying  bricks  at  a  reckless  rate  in 
order  to  make  it  more  difficult  to  decide  on  undoing  it.  Pope  is  in 
favour  of  consulting  a  lawyer — goodness  knows  on  what  line! 
Chappell,  as  far  as  I  understand  him,  thinks  the  bones  are  too 
small  to  be  worth  making  a  fuss  about.  Besides,  if  it  was  a  mur- 
der, it  must  have  been  such  a  long  time  ago !  He  seems  to  believe 
in  some  Statute  of  Limitations.  If  you  kill  a  sufficiently  small 
person,  and  then  wait  long  enough,  it  don't  count !" 

"I  see,"  said  the  doctor,  "but  shall  we  go  down  and  talk  to  them  ?" 
Accordingly,  down  they  went;  but  into  the  office,  not  feeling  they 
would  be  welcome,  necessarily,  elsewhere. 

In  the  office,  prolonged  discussion.  The  attitude  of  Pope,  that 
meddlin'  was  contrary  to  his  own  nature,  that  his  ancestors  had 
been  strangers  to  it,  and  that  he  never  could  abide  it  in  others. 

100 


ALICE-FOK-SHOET  101 

Of  Chappell,  that  we  had  very  little  to  go  on,  as  really  the  bones 
were  quite  insignificant;  not  as  though  it  had  been  a  whole  foot, 
in  which  case  he  would  at  once  have  advocated  a  further  search. 
But  he  thought  a  line  should  be  drawn.  These  bones  might  have 
got  there  by  the  merest  accident.  And  it  was  not  only  the  cost 
of  taking  down  and  rebuilding,  but  the  delay  in  the  completion  of 
the  kiln.  The  castings  were  invoiced  from  the  foundry — in  fact 
were  on  the  way  now — and  we  were  losing  money  every  day  from 
the  delay  in  the  construction  of  this  kiln.  Surely  Mr.  Heath  and 
Dr.  Johnson  would  not  think  us  bound  to  throw  our  work  back 
on  the  strength  of  these  miserable  little  bones!  Chappell's  con- 
tempt for  the  bones  was  beyond  his  powers  of  language. 

Charles  was  most  contrite  about  his  own  share  in  the  matter,  as 
far  as  it  occasioned  disturbance  and  trouble  to  the  Firm.  He 
could  not  allow  them  to  be  put  to  any  cost,  as  really  had  it  not 
been  for  him,  the  question  would  not  have  been  raised — he  would 
willingly  cover  the  expenses  involved.  This  conciliated  Pope. 
As  for  Mr.  Jeff  he  chorused  approval  of  everything  that  sounded 
plausible,  and  said  that  that  was  his  idea ! 

Dr.  Johnson's  contribution  to  the  discussion  was  the  important 
one.  He  couldn't  say  for  certain  what  the  legal  obligation  was  on 
a  medical  man  (or  any  one  else)  to  whose  knowledge  the  discovery 
of  a  human  bone  came.  If  a  complete  skeleton  were  found  buried 
from  which  the  integuments  had  evidently  fallen  away  by  decay, 
the  duty  of  immediately  communicating  with  the  authorities  was 
obvious.  But  if  the  police  were  sent  for  every  time  a  human 
bone  turned  up,  life  wouldn't  be  worth  living  in  lodgings  which 
medical  students  or  artists  had  occupied.  It  must  depend  on  cir- 
cumstances. Perhaps  this  time  it  was  all  a  fuss  about  nothing. 
(Chappell  looked  consoled.  Pope  nodded  the  nod  that  has  said  so 
all  along.)  After  all,  we  really  didn't  know  who  had  lived  in  the 
house — an  Egyptologist  perhaps,  and  some  bits  of  mummies  had 
got  mislaid.  (This  theory  was  almost  noisily  welcomed,  and  every 
one  laid  claim  to  having  thought  of  it.)  Might  we  go  down  and 
look  at  the  place?  But  it  seemed  it  was  all  covered  in  now,  and 
we  shouldn't  be  any  the  wiser.  Well  then,  might  Dr.  Johnson 
personally  hear  the  account  of  the  first  finding  of  the  bones  from 
the  bricklayers?     Certainly, 

Mr.  Haycroft's  account  amounted  to  a  denial  of  having  seen 
anything  whatever  himself,  the  bones  having  been  picked  up  out 
of  the  hole  by  the  young  man,  known  as  Greasy;  but  really  Tod- 
hunter,  if  you  came  to  that.  He  had  gone  off  the  job  yesterday 
evening,  owing  to  words.    Could  he  be  got  at  ?    Well — of  course  it 


102  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

would  be  easy  enough  to  send  for  him,  provided  you  knew  his 
address — nothing  easier!  But  Mr.  Haycroft  didn't  know  his 
address,  unfortunately.  "There's  his  family,"  he  added,  "only,  of 
course,  ihey  live  down  in  Worcestershire."  In  short,  Mr.  Hay- 
croft had  made  up  his  mind  to  obstruction,  and  we  really  had  to 
choose  between  going  to  the  authorities  with  a  tale  of  suspected 
foul  play,  on  the  strength  of  two  detached  metatarsal  bones,  or  let- 
ting the  matter  alone. 

"I  should  think  twice  about  it  before  making  a  rumpus,  Heath," 
said  Johnson.  "We  shall  look  very  foolish  if  the  story  falls 
through,  for  any  reason.  Besides,  they  wouldn't  turn  the  Coroner 
on  again  (to  the  best  of  my  belief)  about  an  affair  that  might 
easily  belong  to  last  century." 

"Well  then,"  said  Charles,  "I  vote  we  let  it  alone."  And  Hay- 
croft went  back  to  work  triumphant,  and  in  a  few  days  was  ready 
to  connect  his  new  block  of  brickwork  with  the  flue  the  tom-cat 
had  run  up  and  never  come  down. 

But,  alas,  for  the  uncertainty  of  things!  Tribulation,  as  Uncle 
Remus  says,  is  waiting  round  the  corner  for  all  of  us,  and  in  this 
case  sad  trouble  awaited  Pope  &  Chappell.  For  there  is  in  Lon- 
don an  awful  Functionary,  called  the  District  Surveyor,  and  it  is 
written  that  without  his  sanction  no  brick  shall  be  laid.  No  mat- 
ter whether  it  is  a  portion  of  a  building  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the 
word  or  not,  a  notice  has  to  be  given  to  him,  and  then  he  will 
inspect  you,  and  finally  measure  up  your  premises,  and  charge  a 
fee  according  to  their  area.  Pope  &  Chappell  had  not,  sad  to 
say,  made  any  communication  about  their  new  kiln — with  their 
motives  we  have  nothing  to  do.  They  were  legally  in  the  wrong 
in  this  omission,  though  of  course  a  cube  of  solid  brickwork  six 
feet  high  is  not  a  building  at  all,  and  therefore  ought  to  be  free 
of  the  Building  Act. 

Now  had  it  not  been  for  the  incident  of  the  bones,  Mr.  Hay- 
croft would  not  have  had  words  with  Greasy  and  sacked  him  off  the 
job.  For  that  was  what  had  happened.  And  these  "words"  had 
been  artificially  fostered  with  a  view  to  the  sacking  of  Greasy, 
which  had  actually  been  determined  on  by  Mr.  Haycroft  the  mo- 
ment he  suspected  that  a  search  might  be  instituted  for  more  bones, 
under  his  footings.  After  all,  the  evidence  turned  on  his  testi- 
mony, and  Greasy's.  Left  to  himself,  he  could  lie  as  he  liked. 
There  was  security  in  loneliness.  Therefore,  Greasy  was  sacked, 
on  pretence  of  words,  and  another  young  man  put  on  the  job. 

Greasy  got  another  job,  on  a  chimney-stack  at  No.  26.  This  job 
was  at  loggerheads  with  the  Surveyor;  and  acting  from  informa- 


ALICE-FOR-SHOKT  103 

tion  brought  by  Greasy,  twitted  the  Surveyor  with  unfairly  wink- 
ing at  serious  irregularity  at  No.  40,  and  bearing  hard  on  mere 
errors  of  form  at  No.  26.  "What  job  at  No.  40?"  said  the  Surveyor, 
in  the  person  of  his  clerk.  "We've  no  job  going  on  at  40,  up  at 
the  office." — "Ask  him !"  said  the  job  at  26,  nodding  over  its  shoulder 
at  Greasy.  And  so  it  fell  out  that  a  few  days  after  Charles  and 
Johnson  had  the  interview  we  have  recorded  above,  the  Surveyor, 
in  propria  persona,  descended  in  wrath  on  No,  40,  and  walked 
straight  into  the  vault  without  so  much  as  asking  leave. 

The  remainder  of  the  story  is  sad.  Let  us  shorten  it.  Pope  & 
Chappell  were  summoned  before  the  magistrate  for  contravention 
of  the  Building  Act.  They  were  fined  and  admonished,  and  the 
structure  itself  condemned  as  irregular,  having  two  courses  of 
footings  instead  of  three.  Its  owners  were  in  despair;  but  there 
was  nothing  for  it,  Down  it  had  to  come  and  down  it  came. 
Haycroft  said  it  was  enough  to  make  a  man  take  pison,  but  he 
only  took  an  extra  pint  of  beer,  which  he  did  not  account  as  poison- 
ous, but  the  reverse. 

"Think  of  all  them  bats  cut  to  waste!"  he  said.  Because  when- 
ever he  wanted  a  bat  or  closure  he  always  cut  a  whole  brick,  and 
therefore  regarded  them  as  waste  when  once  thrown  aside.  But 
what  must  be  must,  and — ^however  reluctantly — Mr.  Haycroft 
started  on  the  afternoon  of  the  magisterial  decision  to  undo  all 
his  work,  and  clean  off  the  bricks  for  a  fresh  start. 

"I'm  sure,"  said  Charles,  an  hour  or  so  later,  to  Pope  and  Chap- 
pell, "no  one  can  be  more  sorry  than  I  am  for  whatever  share  I 
had  in  it.  And  you  really  must  allow  me  to  do  what  I  can  to  make 
up  for  it "  And  was  going  on  to  propose  that  he  should  con- 
tribute, in  a  princely  fashion  (as  one  does  when  one's  father  is 
a  reckless  cheque-writer),  to  the  expenses  incurred,  when  Chap- 
pell interposed  (rather  to  Pope's  disgust,  Charles  thought)  and 
said,  with  more  vitality  than  he  usually  showed,  that  that  wouldn't 
be  at  all  fair,  as  really  the  bone  business  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
number  of  footings, 

"On  the  other  'and,  Mr.  Chappell,"  said  Pope,  "the  number  of 
footins  bad  nothin'  to  do  with  the  slatin'  we've  got  over  it.  What 
this  Official  'Umbug  really  objected  to  was  that  he  was  losin'  a 
fifteen-shillin'  fee.  Do  you  suppose  he'd  not  have  passed  those 
footins  if  he'd  had  notice?  He's  been  slatin'  us  to  keep  up  his 
salary.  That's  what  we've  been  slated  for!  And  do  you  suppose 
that  magistrate  feller  won't  get  his  commission  off  the  job?  Of 
course  he  will!  I  know  'em.  They're  all  alike.  'Appen  to  know 
the  expression  'fishy,'  Mr.  'Eath?    Meanin'  untrustworthy,  doubt- 


104  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

ful,  unreliable.  Well — of  course  you  do !  But  you  don't  know  the 
entomology  of  it  ?  It's  short  for  official,  that's  what  it  is." — Charles 
hadn't  known  this ;  and  Mr.  Pope  continued,  as  a  relief  to  his  feel- 
ings :  "But  I'm  havin'  ray  revenge  on  him  1  See  this  'ead  I'm  paint- 
in'?  Well — I'm  makin'  it  as  like  that  District  Surveyor  as  ever 
I  can  get  it."  Charles  said  he'd  been  looking  at  it,  and  won- 
dering who  it  was  so  like,  and  now  he  saw,  and  it  was  quite 
wonderful ! 

"'Ead  of  Judas  Iscariot.  I  like  the  idear !" — And  Mr.  Pope  was 
evidently  very  happy  about  it. — "Come  in !" 

"Beggin'  your  pardon  for  knockin' ^'    It  was  Haycroft  who 

had  done  so,  seeking  an  interview.  "Excusin'  the  interruption. 
Along  of  that  heikth  I  mentioned  to  you,  Mr.  Chappell " 

"Oh  yes!"  said  Chappell,  "Haycroft  thinks  the  kiln  would  have 
been  such  a  lot  better  with  a  few  inches  more  clear  of  the  ceiling, 
on  account  of  the  flue " 

"And  it  ain't  for  me  to  say  anything,"  interposed  the  bricklayer, 
'Tjut  now  the  work's  all  down  to  the  footings  again  we  could  get 
the  heikth  by  taking  out  a  bit  more  ground." 

Pope  assented.  "Do  just  as  you  like,  Mr.  Chappell,"  said  he, 
and  went  on  with  Judas  Iscariot.  Chappell  said,  "I'll  come  down 
and  have  a  look,  Haycroft,"  and  said  good-day  to  Charles,  and  they 
went  away  together. 

Charles  remained  a  short  time  chatting  and  then  returned  to  his 
Studio,  a  thing  he  was  always  doing  with  a  fierce  resolve  to  make 
up  for  lost  time.  He  passed  a  pleasant  hour  or  so  walking  to  and 
from  touching  distance,  and  looking  alternately  at  a  suit  of  stage 
armour  and  its  replica  in  his  picture,  and  messing  the  paint  about 
indecisively — toning,  he  called  it,  and  getting  quality.  He  was 
beginning  to  feel  quite  meritorious  over  his  industry,  and  when 
he  recognised  the  footstep  of  Jeff  descending  the  stairs,  which 
was  the  harbinger  of  tea  (a  truly  Bohemian  meal  when  it  is  near 
six  o'clock)  he  had  the  effrontery  to  pretend  to  himself  that  he  was 
sorry;  and  that  it  must  be  early,  and  that  he'd  no  idea  it  was  so 
late. 

The  nine  days'  wonder  of  the  kiln  had  been  exhausted,  and  Jeff 
and  Charles  had  talked  it  over,  and  in  and  out,  and  up  and  down. 
So  the  conversation  turned  on  the  Fine  Arts.  The  two  young  men 
were  of  different  schools.  Charles  classified  Jeff  as  a  clever 
chap  at  a  small  water-colour  sketch,  and  decidedly  good  in 
black  and  white— got  a  very  good  quality  in  some  of  his  work 
— shouldn't  wonder  if  he  turned  out  some  good  eaux-fortes,  if 
he  stuck  to  it — and  so  on.     His  friend  on  the  other  hand  per- 


ALICE-FOR-SHOKT  105 

ceived  in  Charles,  with  some  admiration,  a  high-flyer — ^Royally 
Academical — 'Is'try — Mythology — ^fine  bold  treatment  of  the  human 
figure,  and  so  on.  They  had,  however,  a  common  interest — the 
permanency  of  pigments.  But  the  topic,  which  lasted  through  the 
second  cup  of  tea,  was  not  to  be  exhausted  this  time.  For  a  hur' 
ried  footstep  ran  upstairs  and  a  hurried  tap  came  at  the  door. 

"May  I  come  in?"  It  was  Chappell,  perturbed.  "Excuse  my 
running  in  in  this  way.  I  want  to  ask — I  thought  you  two  gentle- 
men had  better  step  down — if  you  don't  mind." — Oh  no,  we  would 
come  by  all  means!  What  was  it?  But  Mr.  Chappell  is  out  of 
breath  from  running  upstairs,  and  also  has  to  collect  himself. 

"Mr.  Pope  thought  you  had  better  come  down  too — while  it's 
only  just  uncovered." 

"While  what's?" — Both  ask  the  question  at  once.  But  then^ 
oddly  enough,  don't  wait  for  any  answer,  and  all  go  down  together, 
Mr.  Pope  calling  out  from  below  to  ask  are  they  coming. 

They  make  straight  for  the  vault,  excited.  Outside  the  door,  in 
the  area,  stands  the  bricklayer,  watching  for  his  employer's  re- 
turn. "I've  not  uncovered  any  more,"  he  says,  and  Chappell 
replies,  "Yes,  quite  right !" — And  then  they  all  go  into  the  vault. 

It  has  been  one  of  those  strange  summer  days  one  gets,  now 
and  again,  in  London  that  make  one  feel  what  a  beautiful  city 
it  might  be  if  it  were  not  for  the  filth  of  the  atmosphere,  and  its 
deposits  on  the  buildings.  A  wondrous  afterglow  is  going  to  come 
in  the  west,  when  the  sun,  now  on  its  way  to  setting,  has  ceased 
to  bathe  the  world  in  a  stupendous  glory  of  golden  flame;  and 
against  that  afterglow  the  street-lamps  mean,  when  they  are 
lighted,  to  show  as  emerald  stars.  And,  though  the  sunlight  cannot 
reach  the  vault  at  No.  40  itself,  it  has  a  strange  power  and  faculty 
for  negotiating  reflections  and  gleams  into  all  dark  corners  and. 
hidden  ways;  and  such  a  gleam  strikes  in  through  the  window 
made  of  German  rounds;  and  as  the  party  pass  inside,  it  illumi- 
nates for  a  moment  the  spot  where  the  ground  is  being  taken  out 
afresh.  And  we  see  at  once  that  what  it  shines  on — the  thing 
of  which  Haycroft  has  not  uncovered  any  more — is  a  thing  that 
sun  shone  on  once  to  its  delight,  and  has  never  reached  till  now 
for  it  may  be  a  hundred  years,  when  this  reflected  ray  caught 
upon  it  and  showed  us  the  shadow  that  is  left  of  the  flowered  silk 
dress  it  once  wore;  and  the  substance,  such  as  it  is,  of  the  woman 
who  once  wore  it.  Something  is  left,  be  sure,  over  and  above  mere 
bone,  inside  that  stocking  and  that  one  shoe  that  still  keeps  its 
form.  And  when  we  have  carefully  removed  the  ground  that  hides 
the  face  on  a  body  that  seems  to  have  been  pitched  headlong  into 


106  .  ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 

an  ill-dug  grave,  so  that  the  feet  at  first  sloped  up  and  projected 
at  the  ground  level,  we  may  find,  as  we  think  with  shuddering 
curiosity,  some  trace  of  that  face,  some  record,  some  one  little 
thing  at  least  that  will  show  us  what  this  woman  was  that  was 
forgotten  so  many  years  before  we  were  born,  even  the  oldest  of  us. 

"They  chucked  her  in  here  in  a  'urry,"  says  Haycrof  t  in  a  voice 
fallen  to  the  occasion,  "and  they  never  dug  deep  enough.  That's 
how  that  shoe  come  off.  After  they'd  covered  her  in,  she  stuck 
out.  So  they  pulled  off  the  shoe,  and  'ammered  the  toes  down,  for 
to  get  the  bricks  flush.  That's  how  them  cats'-bones  we  found 
come  off  separate." — Charles  can  hardly  help  smiling,  through  the 
grisliness  of  the  whole  thing,  at  the  sort  of  claim  (in  defence  of 
his  infallibility)  made  by  Haycroft  that  the  bones  were  intrinsically 
cats',  though  occurring  on  a  human  skeleton. 

"Go  on  getting  away  the  ground — gently — gently,"  says  Chap- 
pell.  And  is  so  solicitous  for  gentleness  as  hardly  to  allow  of  any 
removal  at  all.  Haycroft  kneels  down  and  slowly  clears  with  his 
fingers  round  the  head,  or  where  we  expect  to  find  the  head. 
"There's  something  covering  over  it,"  he  says.  It  appears  to  have 
been  a  lappet  of  the  flowered  silk  dress,  thrown  back  over  the  face 
to  hide  it.  Pope  cannot  resist  the  temptation  to  exhibitions  of 
shrewdness  and  insight.  "You  mark  my  words!"  says  he,  "the 
murderer  he  couldn't  abide  to  look  at  it.  So  he  just  chucked  up  the 
skirt  to  'ide  the  face.  Force  of  conscience !"  And  he  gives  short 
nods,  of  superhuman  sagacity.  Public  opinion  thinks  his  theory 
on  the  whole  plausible,  though  premature. 

"The  hair's  all  clogged  up,  a  sort  of  pickle,"  says  Haycroft. 
"There's  a  rare  lot  of  it  though.  It's  all  in  a  sort  of  white  muck." 
— Jeff  suggests  hair-powder.    Probably  right. 

"Are  you  coming  to  the  face,  Haycrof t  ?"— It  is  Chappell  who 
asks  the  question.  He  is  feverishly  excited  to  see  what  is  coming; 
but  also  bursting  with  caution  about  the  means  taken  to  arrive  at 
it.— "Easy  does  it.  Sir,"  says  Haycroft,  and  goes  on  at  his  own  rate. 

And  now  it  is  all  clear,  so  far  as  it  is  safe  to  touch  it ;  and  Hay- 
croft, assurning  always  a  rather  superior  tone,  as  one  professionally 
intimate  with  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and  not  easily  surprised  at 
anything  that  comes  out  of  it,  remarks :  "It  won't  look  so  well  as  it 
does  now,  to-morrow  morning,  anything  like."— And  we  others 
accept  this— not  because  we  think  the  speaker  knows,  but  because 
we  have  no  knowledge  to  contradict  him  on. 

"Are  you  sure  there's  no  ring  on  the  fingers?"  asks  Charles. 
"Quite  sure,"  is  the  verdict.  "See  'em  at  once  if  there  were.  But 
atop  a  bit!    There  was  a  necklace,  sure  enough.    And  the  beads 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  107 

are  off  the  string,  and  all  fell  down  underneath." — 'TDon't  you  touch 
'em,  on  any  account,"  says  Pope,  and  Haycroft  answers  that  he 
ain't  a-touchin'  of  'em.  Pearls  is  what  they  are !  He  can  see  that 
pretty  plain. 

How  about  leaving  "it"  for  the  night  ?  A  hazy  impression  hangs 
about  that  some  one  ought  to  stay  to  watch  "it."  This  is  not  rea- 
sonable, considering  all  the  long  years  that  "it"  has  been  unseen 
and  forgotten.  Some  earth  has  been  removed — that  is  all  the 
difference.  Speculation  is  afoot  about  possible  molestations  dur- 
ing the  night.  How  about  cats?  Haycroft  renounces  his  previous 
position  about  cats,  and  only  allows  that  one  exists — the  one  up 
the  flue  that  never  come  down.  He  can  be  stuffed  in  with  a  sack, 
and  that'll  keep  him  quiet  enough.  Rats?  There  ain't  any,  in 
the  manner  of  speaking.  Been  too  many  cats  about !  Boys  ?  Well  1 
— of  course  you  can't  do  anything  against  boys — they  are  all- 
powerful  and  all-destructive.  But  then — they  don't  know!  Be- 
sides, they'll  soon  be  in  bed — Haycroft  will  rig  up  the  door  tempory 
on  its  'inges,  and  he  can  get  a  small  pad  that'll  do  for  a  shift, 
and  see  it  all  fast  afore  he  goes.  So  all  disperse,  and  carry 
away,  each  one  according  to  his  susceptibility,  more  or  less  of 
horror.  Haycroft  is  probably  at  one  end  of  the  scale,  Charles  at 
the  other.  The  former  in  fact  has  a  strong  set  off,  in  a  kind  of 
sense  that  he  has  distinguished  himself,  though  it  is  not  so  clear 
why.  It  is  true  that  he  assumed  the  position,  so  to  speak,  of  Master 
of  the  Ceremonies,  as  soon  as  ever  "it"  made  a  recognisable  appear- 
ance above  ground.  But  then,  on  the  other  hand,  he  had  done  his 
best  to  keep  it  under,  and  would  have  succeeded  but  for  a  succes- 
sion of  accidents.  He  was,  however,  one  of  those  strong  characters 
that  go  steadfastly  on  their  way,  however  much  they  are  in  the 
wrong,  and  snap  their  fingers  at  confutation. 

Charles  was,  as  may  be  imagined  by  whoever  has  read  his  char- 
acter rightly  in  this  narrative,  very  much  impressionne,  even  more 
so  than  with  the  recent  suicide.  In  that,  the  whole  of  that  occur- 
rence had  been  explicable  and  free  from  mystery.  It  was  Drink, 
and  that  settled  the  matter.  It  was  shocking  and  repulsive,  but 
it  was  vulgar  and  degraded — a  thing  to  be  forgotten,  not  specu- 
lated on  or  analysed.  In  this,  the  gruesome  silence  of  a  century, 
more  or  less,  since  the  murdered  woman  was  thrust  under  ground 
and  covered  in,  to  be  seen  no  more — the  thought  of  the  body  lying 
there  unsuspected  while  the  living  world  passed  incessantly  to 
and  fro  above  it — the  slightness  of  the  chain  of  events  that  had 
led  to  its  discovery,  any  failure  in  a  link  of  which  would  have  left 
the  secret  still  unrevealed — all  these  appealed  both  to  feeling  and 


108  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

imagination.  And  Charles  was  so  harrowed  that  he  felt  he  would 
really  be  glad  when  he  got  home,  altogether  clear  of  No.  40,  and 
could  relieve  his  mind.  He  could  tell  the  story  to  Peggy.  He  was 
so  sorry  for  Jeff  for  having  to  stop  in  the  place  that  he  invited  him 
home.  But  Jeff  didn't  mind.  Lord  bless  you!  Besides,  he  was 
going  to  the  Gaiety  to  see  Nellie  Farren,  with  old  Gorman,  and 
Charles  (he  pointed  out)  had  better  come  too.  He  would  be  too 
late  to  dress,  and  it  would  be  very  uncomfortable  not  to  have  a  good 
wash  and  a  clean  shirt  after  all  that  corpse.  So  the  two  young 
men  set  off  to  meet  old  Gorman  at  Cremoncini's ;  and  then  after  a 
merry  repast,  Charles  cried  off  the  play  and  started  to  walk  home. 
But  he  thought  better  of  it.  It  was  so  late.  He  signalled  to  a  cab — 
and  as  the  doors  shut  his  legs  in  of  their  own  accord,  he  thought  of 
how  he  had  ridden  home  with  Alice.  Rum  little  Alice!  thought 
he.  And  what  a  nice  little  party  she  was  getting  to  be — and  how 
she  would  stare  at  the  story  of  the  la 

Charles's  thought  stopped  with  a  jerk !  It  stopped  exactly  where 
we  have  stopped  it,  in  print.  And  it  left  him  with  a  puzzled  face 
all  the  way  from  Wardour  Street  tp  Bond  Street.  Then  he  ap- 
peared to  pass  through  a  phase  of  relief,  and  to  breathe  more 
freely,  after  remarking  to  himself  that  probably  it  was  only  a 
coincidence. 

For  the  thing  that  Charles  had  recollected,  that  this  time-hon- 
oured panacea  for  all  the  Unaccountable  had  been  invoked  to  coun- 
teract, was  Alice's  story  of  the  lidy  with  the  black  spots.  But 
of  course — it  was  a  coincidence !  How  could  he  be  so  foolish  as  to 
connect  the  two  things  together?  This  frame  of  mind  lasted  all 
the  way  to  Hyde  Park  Street.  Then  it  gave  way  to  a  compro- 
mise: "An  awfully  queer  coincidence,  for  all  that!"  But  he 
wouldn't  make  any  suggestions  when  he  told  Peggy  the  story — he 
would  be  good  and  Scientific  and  Philosophical,  and  research  psy- 
chically. He  should  like  to  see  how  it  struck  Peggy  when  no  hints 
were  given. 

He  was  just  in  time  to  join  his  father  and  brothers  on  their  way 
up  from  the  smoking-room,  but  he  did  not  begin  his  story  until  his 
audience  was  complete.  It  took  some  time  in  the  telling.  When 
he  had  got  quite  to  the  end  he  was  a  little  disconcerted  at  the 
perfect  calmness  with  which  Peggy  said,  "Of  course  it's  Alice's 
lidy  with  the  black  spots." 

Charles  wasn't  going  to  be  caught  out.  Amour  propre  stepped 
in. — "Of  course!"  said  he.  But  a  trifling  indecision  in  his  voice 
betrayed  him. 

"There  now !"  exclaimed  Ellen  the  youngest,  who  was  dining  down 


ALICE-FOK-SHOKT  10& 

as  there  was  no  company,  "I  don't  believe  Charley  thought  of  it 
till  just  this  minute.    1  don't!    That  I  don't!" 

"Not  a  bad  shot  for  a  thirteener,"  said  Charles,  who  was  truth- 
fulness itself.  "But  I  had  thought  of  it — I  thought  of  it  in  the 
cab." 

"One  often  thinks  of  things  in  cabs,"  said  Archibald,  the  eldest 
brother.  He  was  not  considered  a  genius,  so  he  had  been  assigned 
a  position  of  responsibility  in  his  father's  business.  Mrs.  Heath 
always  bore  in  mind  that  Archibald  had  been  her  first  achievement 
in  the  way  of  a  human  boy,  and  she  felt  that  his  intelligence  ought 
to  do  her  credit.  But  when  he  failed  to  bring  his  ideas  up  to 
concert-pitch,  the  end  had  to  be  attained  by  interpretation.  On 
this  occasion  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  with  her  eyes  closed, 
and  spake  as  one  who  reflects  on  Philosophy  internally:  "I  do  feel 
that  is  so  true — what  Archie  says" — and  proceeded  to  show  grounds 
for  a  belief  that  the  human  intelligence,  in  cabs,  is  enlarged  and 
expanded.  She  got  through  this  without  more  interruption  than 
a  sotto-voce  from  Ellen — "What  stuff  Mamma's  talking.  I  shan't 
listen" — and  a  remark  from  Robin  that  little  girls  should  be  seen, 
not  heard,  followed  by  a  riposte  from  Ellen — "Just  as  if  I  was 
Alice!"  This  is  interesting,  as  showing  that  Alice  was  an  estab- 
lished institution. 

When  Mrs.  Heath  had  done,  Peggy  resumed — "What  do  you 
really  think,  Charley  ?"  said  she. 

"About  the  ghost?  Of,  of  course,  that's  an  accidental  coin- 
cidence— at  least,  I  don't  know  what  to  think " 

"Make  your  mind  up !"  thus  Peggy,  ruthlessly. 

"Well — really — Pog! — you  know  that  kid  has  told  us  a  whole 
budget  of  stories  about  No.  40.  Just  look  at  those  romances  about 
her  father  and  the  man  in  a  .wig  that  was  in  the  kitchen — well ! 
yes,  of  course  the  father  may  have  had  a  touch  of  D.  T.,  and  that 
story  might  be  true.  But  think  of  that  one  about  how  the  lidy  with 
the  spots  was  dressed  in  the  drawing-room  window  curtains !" 

Peggy  didn't  look  less  thoughtful  over  this — rather  the  con- 
trary. But  she  put  off  what  she  had  to  say ;  Mr.  Heath,  according 
to  his  usual  practice,  having  cut  into  the  conversation  with  revival 
of  a  retrospective  arrear.  He  had  heard  Archie's  remark  about 
the  cab;  and  he,  also,  had  a  joint  interest  in  the  justification  of 
that  young  man's  intelligence : 

"Hey !  What's  that  Archie  says  ?  Thinking  in  cabs,  hey !  Why, 
I  do  all  my  thinking  in  cabs.  No  time  anywhere  else,  hey !  Who's 
been  thinking  in  a  cab?"  But  his  wife  was  not  properly  grateful 
for  this  rally  on  her  behalf. 


110  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

"It's  all  this  nonsensical  story  of  Charley's — about  something 
they've  dug  up,  and  a  ghost — oh  dear !     Tell  your  father — I  can't 

raise  my  voice "    And  Mrs.  Heath  shows  symptoms  of  syncope, 

in  an  indecisive  way.  So  the  tale,  which  the  august  head  of  the 
house  had  thought  fit  to  pay  no  attention  to  when  it  was  first  told, 
has  to  be  gone  through  again,  subject  to  jocular  interruption  on 
his  part,  and  a  sense  of  sympathetic  incredulity  rising  to  applause 
among  the  other  members  of  the  conclave. 

"Hey!  Well — we're  all  mighty  fine  people!"  Thus  Mr.  Heath 
when  a  confused  joint-stock  repetition  of  the  story  comes  to  an 
end,  and  is  believed  to  have  been  heard.  He  goes  on,  with  an  aspect 
of  tense  judicial  insight,  a  shaken  forefinger  enjoining  careful 
attention.  "Now,  I  should  like  to  ask  you  just,  this,  one,  ques- 
tion :  What  was  to  prevent  this  tailor  man  and  his  wife,  who  don't 
seem  to  have  been  the  best  of  characters,  from  taking  some  of  the 
bones  off  your  skeleton  in  the  Studio,  and  burying  them  in  the 
vault?  Hey?  What  do  we  say  to  that?"  Whereon  Robin  lets 
loose  a  sly  perspicuous  "Aha !" — and  the  world  feels  that  Nemesis 
is  overtaking  Superstition  apace.  But  that  she  is  nipped  in  the 
bud  when  Charles  attests  that  his  skeleton  is  a  man's,  and  this 
is  a  woman's.  He  cites  this  as  the  nearest  conclusive  plea  to  hand, 
but  doesn't  contribute  much  more  to  the  debate.  What  on  earth 
could  be  the  use  of  such  chatter  ? 

Peggy  said  nothing  whatever.  She  and  her  brother  got  a  good 
long  talk  on  the  terrace  in  the  evening  later,  of  which  follow 
extracts.  Peggy  resumed  the  ghost-story  first,  all  the  previous  mat- 
ter having  related  to  the  disinterment,  the  chance  of  public  enquiry 
throwing  more  light  on  the  story,  and  so  forth.  "Well,  now, 
Charley  dear,"  she  said,  "what  do  we  really  think  about  Alice's 
lidy  ?    Both  of  us,  you  know." 

"Poggy  dear — I  don't  even  know  what  I  think  myself !" 

"Nor  I,  either!  We  neither  of  us  know.  But  tell  me  more 
about  the  dress.    Can  you  see  the  pattern?" 

"Yes — just  the  remains  of  it.  Colour  all  gone,  of  course — ^but 
you  can  see  that. it  was  silk,  and  worked  with  a  sort  of  Chinese 
flowers " 

"And  was  it  like  the  Cretonne  chintzes  in  the  drawing-room  ?" 

"Why ?    Oh  yes,  of  course ;  but  I  see !    Well  now,  that  is  very 

queer.    I  didn't  think  of  it  when  you  spoke  at  dinner." 

"Charley  Slowboy!  What  a  silly  old  man  you  are,  Charley 
dear !  I  tell  you  what  though !  We  must  make  Alice-f or-short  tell 
us  again  about  the  man  in  a  wig " 

"It  wasn't  a  thing  that  happened,  you  know.    It  was  what  her 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  111 

father  deamed.  He  deamed  he  deamed  it,  don't  you  remember?" 
Charles  mimicked  Alice's  expression,  and  both  laughed. 

"I  recollect.  He  deamed  he  deamed  it,  and  when  he  wiked  up, 
he  told  Alice.  At  least,  when  he  wiked  up  (her  pronunciation's 
getting  better  now,  and  I'm  glad)  he  was  shiking,  and  he  said 
"Dood  Dod,  what  a  deam!" 

"Yes — and  then  Alice  asked  him " 

"Alice  asked  him  what  it  was,  and  he  told  her  he  deamed  that 
an  old  man  in  a  wig  had  come  and  spoked  a  long,  long  sword — 
ever  so  long — right  f roo  mother.  And  then  he  gave  father  over  the 
long,  long  sword,  and  said  father  to  spoke  it  froo  too.  Oh  dear, 
how  funny  she  was !  nodding  it  into  us,  don't  you  know  ?" 

"But  first  she  said  an  old  man,  and  then  a  young  one — and  then 
contradicted  herself  and  got  quite  confused " 

"Well!  We  must  make  her  tell  it  again  quietly,  and  not  upset 
her  with  too  many  questions.  She  is  small,  you  know.  Besides, 
it  struck  me  afterwards  that  she  didn't  mean  an  old  man  at  all, 
but  an  old-fashioned  man — and  couldn't  find  the  words " 

"What  was  the  other  word  she  used  ?  An  old  grandfather  man — 
did  she  mean  an  ancestral  bloke  ?    I  say,  Poggy !" 

"You  say  what?" 

"Well — it's  another  subject.    But  I  should  like  to  know " 

"What  would  you  like  to  know,  dear  silly  old  boy?"  At  this 
point  of  the  conversation,  figure  to  yourself  that  Charles  is  smok- 
ing on  a  divided  garden  seat  in  the  waning  moonlight  (for  the 
moon  is  still  there  that  saw  the  first  discovery  of  the  bones),  while 
Peggy  leans  over  from  the  other  half  to  ruffle  his  hair  for  him,  by 
request.  He  likes  it.  "You  really  must  get  a  sweetheart  to  ruffle 
your  hair  for  you,  you  old  goose,"  says  she,  and  the  conversation 
continues. 

"What  should  I  like  to  know?  Why — what  did  you  say  to  poor 
Johnson  that  he  got  so  upset  about — that  evening  about  a  fort- 
night— ten  days  back?  He  didn't  make  you  an  ofier,  did 
he?" 

"Oh,  no!"  Peggy  is  a  little  agacee.  Her  brother  feels  it  in  the 
hand  that  is  ruffling  his  hair  for  him. 

"Oh  dear,  no!  He  would  have  gone  on  for  months — for  years 
perhaps,  without  doing  that.    But " 

"Yes— but ?" 

"But  he  would  have  gone  on." 

"But  gone  on  how  ?  It  always  seems  to  me  he's  such  a  very  good 
sort  of  chap  at  behaving — steady  sort  of  cuss.  How  do  you  mean 
gone  onV 


112  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

"Oh,  Charley  boy!  You  are  an  old  stupid.  Gone  on  adoring, 
of  course !    But  I  believe  you're  only  pretending " 

"I  was  half -pretending.  I  wanted  to  put  it  on  a  footing.  Don't 
you  see  you  might  have  been  refusing  to  take  peptone,  or  let  him 
listen  to  your  chest,  or  something  of  that  sort  ?" 

"I've  got  nothing  the  matter,  and  I  wouldn't  let  him  doctor  me, 
if  I  had.  I  should  like  a  much  more  callous  physician — a  cold- 
blooded card." 

"Keep  to  the  point,  Poggy-Woggy !  What  did  you  say  to  him 
that  upset  him  so?" 

"What  many  girls  would  like  to  say  to  many  men — only  they 
dare  not,  in  case  they  should  find  themselves  mistaken  and  look 
foolish.  Exactly  what  I  wanted  to  say  to  him  was,  'Don't  get  too 
fond  of  me,  because  I  won't  marry  you!'  only  I  couldn't  put  it 
that  way,  now,  could  I,  Goosey  ?" 

"I  don't  know " 

"Well — anyhow,  I  didn't!  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  and  then 
you'll  know.  I  walked  him  out  in  the  garden  here,  and  we  chatted 
about  Alice  and  her  mother.  Then  the  conversation  got  round,  as 
it  does  sometimes.    You  don't  want  it  to,  but  it  does " 

"Got  round  to  what?" 

"To  that  sort  of  thing  I  was  speaking  of.  I  think  it  was  my 
saying  what  a  terrible  thing  it  was  to  think  that  this  man  who 
killed  her  mv^t  once  have  loved  her,  and  what  an  awful  thing  the 
slow  death  of  love  was.  Of  course  I  was  thinking  of  real  love. 
Affection-love — not  Falling-in-love  love " 

"What  the  dooce  is  the  difference?"  Charles  burst  out  laugh- 
ing. 

"There  is  a  difference.  Well — ^he  wouldn't  understand,  and 
twisted  the  conversation  round.    I  don't  think  it  was  fair." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"Well — perhaps  it  was  my  fault,  partly.  I  said  I  supposed  his 
affection  for  her  died  a  natural  death  as  soon  as  she  got  old  and 
ugly,  and  was  half  driven  mad  with  all  those  children.  And  that  I 
supposed  it  was  the  usual  thing — that  while  she  was  young  and 
pretty  he  was  fond  of  her,  and  then  as  soon  as  she  got  disagreeable 
he  hated  her.  Then  I  think  he  should  have  let  me  change  the  con- 
versation, as  I  wanted  to,  instead  of " 

"Instead  of  what?" 

"Instead  of  getting  very  much  in  earnest  about  how  Love  that 
could  change  wasn't  Love  at  all,  and  that  sort  of  nonsense " 

"Poor  Johnson!" 

"That  was  just  what  I  felt.    Because  I  like  him  so  much  that  I 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  113 

can't  bear  the  idea  of  his  being  miserable — ^through  me.  So  what 
could  I  do,  when  he  began  going  on  like  that  ?" 

"There  was  nothing  so  very  much  in  that.  Miss  Petherington 
said  the  same  last  night." 

"Bother  Miss  Petherington!    There  was  lots  more." 

"What  sort?" 

"I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  tell  you  to  make  it  understood.  He 
said,  'I  know  a  man.  Miss  Heath — and  I  know  him  well,  so  I  can- 
not be  mistaken-— whose  feelings  towards  a  particular  woman  seem 
to  him  so  fixed  and  unchangeable  that  he  cannot  conceive  change 
as  a  possibility,  nor  see  by  what  means  change  could  come  about. 
But  I  have  no  right  to  talk  about  him.' " 

"How  did  you  know  he  didn't  mean  somebody  else  ?" 

"I  didn't — for  a  moment :  he  spoke  in  such  a  third-personish  sort 
of  way.  But  a  moment  after  I  saw,  I  can't  tell  you  how,  that  he 
was  speaking  of  himself  and  me.    And  I  was  so  sorry  for  him." 

"But  what  was  it  you  said  to  him  ?  That's  what  I  want  to  come 
at " 

"Why — as  soon  as  I  could  screw  myself  up  to  sticking  point,  I 
said:  'Dr.  Johnson,  I  know  a  woman — and  I  know  her  well,  so  I 
cannot  be  mistaken — who  suspects  a  man,  a  friend  she  likes  very 
much,  of  feeling  towards  her  exactly  what  you  describe,  but  she 
knows  she  cannot  return  it — cannot  be  his  wife,  in  short.  But  she 
does  wish  she  could  speak  plainly  to  him,  and  beg  him,  pray  him, 

for  her  sake  and  his  own,  to  put  all  such  ideas  aside ^  and  find 

somebody  else,  in  short ;  only  that  wasn't  how  I  worded  it." 

"Poor  Johnson !    How  did  he  take  it  ?" 

"Very  well  indeed — but  very  gravely.  Stuck  to  the  allegorical 
treatment." — Peggy  was  half -laughing,  half-crying  at  this  point. — 
*'  'Did  she  know  some  one  else  she  cared  more  for  V — that  was  his 
next  question. — 'Not  that  I  know  of,'  said  I.  'But  you  seem  to 
think  I  know  a  mighty  lot  about  her.' — 'I  think  you  do,'  said  he. 
'At  any  rate,  I'll  take  your  word  for  her' " 

"Was  that  all  ?" 

"No — we  turned  to  go  back  to  the  house,  and  just  then  I  got 
an  attack  of  courage,  and  stopped.  'Come,  Dr.  Johnson,'  said  I 
'don't  let's  have  any  more  mystifications.  You  meant  me  and  I 
meant  you.  We  meant  each  other.  And  remember  that  what  I 
said  about  myself,  sideways,  I  really  was  in  earnest  about.' — He 
said,  'Do  you  wish  me  to  say  good-bye?'  and  held  out  his  hand. 
And  I  called  out,  'No — certainly  not!'  so  loud  that  a  policeman 
looked  over  the  railings.  Then  we  said  no  more  and  walked  up 
to  the  house.    And  when  he  went  away  I  told  him  I  had  said  it  all 


114  ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 

for  his  sake,  and  he  mustn't  miff  off,  like  Captain  Bradley  and  that 
silly  boy — what  was  his  name? '* 

"Robert  Forrest?  I  hope  he  won't.  Was  Johnson  good?  Did 
he  promise  not  to  do  so  any  more?" — Peggy  gave  her  beautiful 
head  a  long  lugubrious  shake,  imitating  Alice,  with  her  eyebrows 
up  and  eyelids  dropped. 

"No!  Very  bad,"  said  she.  "Said  he  couldn't  change.  Stuff 
and  nonsense!" 

It  was  getting  late  and  the  moon  was  thinking  about  retiring. 
Charles  got  up  off  the  seat  and  tapped  the  tobacco  out  of  his 
meerschaum  on  it,  and  Peggy  blew  the  ash  away,  for  tidiness. 
"Poor  Johnson?"  said  he,  "Pm  sorry  for  Johnson.  But  I  say, 
Peggy " 

"What,  dear  boy?" 

"Are  you  quite  sure ?" 

"Oh  yes!  Quite,  quite  sure.  I'm  very  fond  of  him  all  the 
same,  but  that's  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"You  fancy  you'll  miss  him  if  he  shies  off?" 

Peggy  half  assented.  "Well — I  do — but  perhaps  in  a  day  or 
two " 

" you  might  think  differently.    Do  you  ever  miss  Captain 

Bradley?" 

"Captain  Bradley  !    The  idea  I P 


CHAPTER  XI 

uP  THE  STORY  OF  THE  BONES.     A  POSSIBLE  CLUE.     MR.  VERRINDER.     MR. 
HEATH  GOES  TO  SEE  HIM.     CONCERNING  BEDLAM 

Mr.  Pope  and  Mr.  Chappell  next  day,  as  well  as  all  the  other 
witnesses  of  the  excavation,  stood  awaiting  the  arrival  of  "the 
Authorities,"  to  whom  notice  had  been  duly  given  of  the  discovery 
of  the  remains.  "I'm  thinkin',"  said  Pope,  "that  this  little  affair 
won't  work  so  badly  as  a  set  off  against  the  slatin'  we've  'ad  over 
this  kiln."  He  had  a  habit,  when  he  got  a  new  word,  of  making  it 
go  a  long  way. 

"How  do  you  make  that  out  ?"  asked  his  partner. 

"You  ask  Mr.  'Eath  his  opinion.  According  to  my  idea  we  shall 
have  a  reg'lar  benefit.  Sparrowgraphs  in  the  Press — S'ciety  of 
Antiquaries — Archaeologists — interestin'  particulars — sing'lar  dis- 
covery— gharstly  details  of  sing'lar  discovery — identification  of  re- 
mains— 'cos  somebody's  sure  to  find  out  they're  NeU  Gwynne." 

"She  wasn't  murdered " 

"Well  then — some  immoral  historical  female  that  was  miirdered. 
Sure  to  somebody  turn  up !" 

However,  nobody  did  turn  up.  Not  for  want  of  immoral  his- 
torical females,  but  because  none  could  be  found  to  have  lived  in 
the  house  who  had  also  vanished  and  left  no  trace.  Mr.  Pope  was 
indignant  with  one  or  two  dead  Sirens  who  were  said  to  have  en- 
joyed a  doubtful  reputation — a  curious  taste  on  their  part  surely! 
— and  to  have  earned  it  in  that  house,  for  not  having  been  mur- 
dered there.    One  especially  would  have  done  beautifully — but  alas, 

instead  of  getting  murdered  she  had  married  the  Duke  of , 

and  had  sneaked  out  of  all  responsibility  for  authenticating  these 
remains,  leaving  that  task  to  some  obscure  person  who  had  possi- 
bly been  moral,  and  certainly  historical,  but  had  been  ignomini- 
ously  lost  sight  of. 

All  that  was  quite  clear  was  that  these  were  the  mortal  remains 
of  a  woman,  probably  about  five-and-twenty  years  of  age,  with 
dark  hair  and  a  great  deal  of  it;  who,  being  completely  dressed  as 
for  a  ball  in  a  flowered  siUc  dress  (whose  pattern  was  still  trace- 
able), had  been  stabbed  through  the  heart  with  a  tremendous 
thrust,  and  then  hastily  buried,  but  afterwards  carefully  covered 

115 


1  ]  6  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

in  by  replacing  the  brickwork  floor.  The  manner  ot  the  death  was 
inferred  from  a  fracture  of  a  rib  behind  the  heart — struck,  it  was 
supposed,  with  great  force  by  the  point  of  the  rapier  that  had 
already  passed  through  the  body.  Some  of  those  who  examined  it 
professed  to  see  the  indentation  of  the  point  upon  the  bone — but 
this  was  disputed. 

What  had  been  a  letter  was  still  identifiable  in  what  had  been 
the  bosom  of  the  dress — ^but  it  was  impossible  to  decipher  a  legible 
word  now.  It  had  been  a  love-letter  once  perhaps — who  could  say  ? 
Think  of  the  clear  bright  ink — of  the  scratching  quill — of  the  ab- 
sorbed successful  face  of  the  writer — a  hundred  years  ago ! — as  he 
thought  to  himself  how  well  he  had  said  that,  and  wondered  what 
manner  of  answer  he  was  going  to  get.  But  perhaps  it  was  only 
a  receipt  for  cookery,  or  an  invitation  to  tea.  Now,  the  blood-stain 
had  usurped  the  ink,  and  there  was  an  end  of  it ! 

The  jewels  had  all  been  removed,  except  the  pearl  necklace,  which 
was  claimed  partly  by  the  landlord  of  the  estate,  and  partly  by  the 
Crown  as  treasure  trove.  The  last  claim  failed  on  some  technical 
count,  and  half  the  pearls  were  adjudged  to  the  finder.  It  being 
impossible  to  determine  who  he  was,  the  proceeds  of  its  sale  were 
by  common  consent  given  to  a  Hospital. 

The  ground  surrounding  what  had  been  taken  out  was  all  virgin 
soil,  and  was  identified  by  Haycroft  as  similar  to  some  he  had 
cleared  out  of  an  arched  recess  near  the  staircase.  Some  of  this 
had  been  scraped  out  recently,  he  thought,  as  there  was  the  matter 
of  a  few  shovelfuls  under  the  stairs.  He  pointed  out  that  probably 
the  murderer,  feeling  uneasy  about  the  thrown-up  soil  in  the  vault, 
had  removed  it  to  this  recess,  and  packed  it  in  flush  with  a  sort 
of  parapet  across  the  lower  part: — "There  was  a  beer-cask  stood 
in  there,"  said  this  theorist.  "Leanin'  it  was  on  the  parapet  in 
front  like — and  he  could  shovel  in  the  sile  and  flush  it  off  under- 
neath so  nobody'd  ever  notice  it  hadn't  always  been  there."  And 
the  theory  was  accepted  and  adopted  to  the  great  gratification  of 
its  author. 

Neither  Charles  nor  Jeff  felt  the  least  bound  to  volunteer  infor- 
mation about  the  jug,  being  asked  no  questions.  Besides  it  wasn't 
clear  it  had  anything  to  do  with  the  matter.  They  brought  it 
down  (it  was  beautifully  mended)  into  Charles's  Studio  to  smoke 
over  it,  and  reflect  and  speculate. 

"You  see  how  it  was,  Jeff  ?"  said  Charles.  "It  was  the  beer-jug, 
and  was  placed  inside  the  safe  recess  by  somebody  and  lost  sight 
of.  Then  this  murdering  character  came,  and  chucked  in  all  that 
loam,  or  sand,  as  Haycroft  said,  and  covered  it  in " 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  1 1 7 

"But,  I  say,  Charley !  What  set  Goody  Peppermint  and  her  hus- 
band to  grobble  up  that  stuff?  They  didn't  know  there  was  a  jug 
there." 

"Of  course  they  didn't,  stoopid !  But  they  were  caretakers.  The 
first  instinct  of  a  caretaker  is  the  appropriation  of  the  uninven- 
toried.  The  second  is  its  realisation,  so  called,  at  the  pawnshop. 
They  kept  the  jug  in  this  case,  because  they  thought  it  of  no  value." 

"That  was  a  mistake !    Just  look  at  it ! " 

"They  got  a  good  haul  out  of  it,  though.  I  expect  that  ring's 
worth  money."  For  Charles  had  told  Jeff  all  about  the  ring. 
"It's  to  be  kept  for  the  kid.  But  why  it  should  be  in  the  jug 
beats  me.    I  give  it  up !" 

And  everybody  gave  it  up.  Many  made  rash  starts  in  conver- 
sational efforts  to  clear  up  this  mystery,  but  had  always  to  climb 
down  in  the  end.  Perhaps  the  weak  theories  were  more  interesting 
than  the  sounder  ones,  as  showing  the  effect  on  feeble  minds  of 
attempts  to  grapple  with  the  insoluble.  As,  for  instance,  that  the 
ring  had  fallen  into  the  beer.  This  was  Archibald's,  but  he  de- 
clined to  enlarge  upon  it,  feeling  no  doubt  that  it  was  safest  in 
its  unadorned  simplicity.  Then  there  was  Partridge's,  who 
ascribed  it  to  the  "goings-on"  of  the  "girls"  and  their  young  men, 
but  also  cautiously  avoided  detail.  Robin  reduced  speculation  to 
its  most  elementary  form,  by  merely  shutting  one  eye,  and  saying 
that  we  should  see  we  should  find  that  there  was  some  very  queer 
story  attached  to  it.  Mrs.  Heath  preferred  to  indicate,  by  subtle- 
ties of  manner,  that  she  could  see  through  the  whole  thing,  quite 
easily,  but  that  it  would  not  admit  of  general  discussion,  especially 
among  young  persons.  "I'll  tell  you  after"  describes  her  attitude. 
Her  husband  suggested  ponderous  and  exhaustive  conclusion,  re- 
tained from  motives  of  a  magisterial  nature;  but  only  committed 
himself  so  far  as  to  say  that,  if  the  affair  were  put  in  the  hands 
of  the  Criminal  Investigation  Department,  he  had  no  doubt  the 
heads  thereof  would  give  a  good  account  of  the  matter. 

Charles  and  Peggy  both  thought  the  only  surmise  worth  a  straw 
was  Ellen's;  that  there  was  a  magpie  in  the  house.  This  acquired 
so  definite  a  status,  as  to  be  spoken  of  as  "the  Magpie  theory." 
It  might  have  been  the  true  one,  but  it  wasn't. 

How  often  a  clue  to  an  old-world  story  must  be  lost  sight  of 
through  its  never  coming  to  those  who  seek  it  that  some  survivor 
could  supply  the  link  that  is  wanted !  Often  and  often  there  must 
linger  in  some  brain,  near  a  century  old,  of  some  forgotten  human 
relic — some  tenant  of  an  Almshouse  or  Workhouse,  or  maybe  Mad- 


1 1 8  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

house  or  Gaol — some  memory  of  earliest  childhood,  some  spoken 
word  from  lips,  as  old  as  his  or  hers  are  now,  that  would  throw 
a  light  on  what  must  remain  in  darkness  for  all  time,  except  that 
word  be  uttered  again  to  ears  that  will  listen,  and  minds  that  will 
record.  What  may  not  be  lost,  now  and  again,  in  the  garrulities  of 
extreme  old  age,  shouted  down  by  the  vigorous  surrounding  life, 
that  only  cares  for  nowf  We  slight  and  discard  the  recollections  of 
the  Rip  Van  Vinkles  we  have  about  us,  every  day,  because  the 
Kaatskill  Mountain  into  which  they  disappeared  from  the  village 
of  Childhood  was  the  World  of  active  life  itself  ?  They  have  come 
back  now,  and  Hendrick  Hudson  and  his  game  of  bowls  is  van- 
ishing from  them;  and  the  village  street  comes  back.  And  they 
see  again  the  old  old  folk  that  were  there — that  are  long  gone  now — 
and  can  maybe  hear  what  they  say!  And  when  they  try  to  tell, 
we  say— "Oh,  bother!" 

Well!  That's  the  sort  of  answer  they  get  very  often.  And  we 
lose  a  great  deal  by  it. 

No  centenarian  turned  up  to  throw  a  light  on  the  mystery  of 
No.  40.  But  a  good  deal  of  tradition  is  to  be  got  from  lesser 
veterans.  The  Chelsea  Pensioner  who  wasn't  at  Chillianwallah 
himself  can  find  you  names  on  its  monumental  column  of  those 
who  were  comrades  in  arms  of  old  friends  now  dead  who  were 
there,  and  told  him  all  about  it.  And  the  Art-Student  of  sixty- 
odd,  whom  Charles  made  acquaintance  with  at  the  Royal  Academy 
schools,  was  a  lesser  veteran  of  this  sort.  He  was  a  strange  con- 
necting link  with  the  past,  a  life-student  of  the  schools,  dating 
back  almost  if  not  quite  to  the  days  of  Fuseli.  His  name  occurs  at 
the  comer  of  copperplate  illustrations  of  the  days  of  our  Grand- 
mothers— the  grandmothers  I  mean  of  us  old  ones — ^your  great- 
grandmothers,  dear  boys  and  girls!  Instances  of  female  beauty 
called  variably  Belinda,  Zoe,  Fanny,  and  Gaiety,  Tenderness,  Coy- 
ness, and  so  forth,  show  the  signature  J.  W.  Verrinder,  and  one 
or  two  illustrated  works  of  the  time  of  the  Peninsular  War  were 
contributed  to  by  the  same  hand.  By  what  slow  decadence  the 
unhappy  artist  had  dwindled  to  his  present  position.  Heaven  only 
knew!  But  there  he  was,  a  perpetual  life-student,  who  so  far  as 
Charles  could  ascertain  had  never  completed  a  drawing  or  a  study 
since  the  one  that  had  won  him  his  medal  and  gained  him  his 
position,  early  in  the  century.  Since  then — so  it  was  said  among 
the  students — old  Verrinder  had  pursued  exactly  the  same  course  in 
the  painting  school.  As  soon  as  the  sitting  of  each  model  came 
to  an  end  he  would  wipe  out  the  work  he  had  done  with  turpentine 
and  begin  another  on  the  same  canvas.     The  polished  condition 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  119 

of  that  canvas  may  be  imagined.  But  Charles  felt  that  most  prob- 
ably the  man,  as  he  now  saw  him,  was  at  the  end  of  a  slow  degrin- 
golade,  and  that  thirty  years  ago  things  were  different.  He  had 
always  (and  had  always  had,  said  tradition)  the  same  clothes, 
and  the  same  indifference  to  soap  and  water.  An  impudent  youth 
once  said  to  him,  "Why  do  you  never  wash  yourself?"  and  he 
replied,  "Why  should  I?"  and  then  added,  "If  you  were  me,  you 
wouldn't."  But  he  used  to  shave,  or  be  shaved.  It  was  alleged  that 
he  had  never  had  any  lunch  since  he  gave  up  making  chalk  draw- 
ings, when  he  used  to  eat  the  crust  of  a  twopenny  loaf,  preserving 
the  crumb  for  erasure.  He  must  have  bought  new  tubes  of  colour 
sometimes,  as  he  couldn't  use  them  twice  over :  but  no  one  had  ever 
seen  a  new  colour-tube  nor  a  new  brush  in  his  possession.  He 
was  always  at  the  end  of  his  tubes,  but  always  able  to  get  a  very 
little  more  out  of  them.  However,  he  supplied  himself  by  borrow- 
ings. He  used  to  retreat  rapidly  from  his  picture  as  though  to  get 
its  effect  from  afar,  and  then  suddenly  swinging  round,  pounce  on 
a  neighbour  with — "Half-a-squeeze  of  Indian  Red!"  or  whatever 
colour  he  wanted — always  too  sudden  an  appeal  to  be  resisted. 

Charles,  always  reckless  about  his  colourman's  bills,  had,  at  this 
time,  just  laid  in  a  huge  stock.  So  magnificent  a  collection  of  ma- 
terial as  his  box  contained  was  rarely  to  be  seen  in  the  painting 
school,  and  of  course  it  attracted  attention.  This  took  the  form 
of  examination  and  condemnation  of  its  contents,  on  the  ground 
of  the  superfluity  of  each  to  any  reasonable  artist. 

"What  do  you  want  with  Chrome,  No.  2 «" 

"What  do  you  want  with  Malachite  Green?" 

"What  do  you  want  with  Cologne  Earth  ?" 

And  so  on  through  some  three  dozen  tubes,  of  which  not  one 
received  unanimous  sanction,  except  Raw  Umber  and  Flake  White. 
Each  was  condemned  in  turn  as  unnecessary  to  a  serious  artist,  and 
most  were  censured  as  not  being  permanent.  Among  these, 
Asphaltum  came  in  for  universal  condemnation.  Just  as  it  was 
under  review,  Verrinder  charged  backwards  the  whole  width  of 
the  room,  and  arrived  at  the  group  round  Charles's  box  in  time  to 
overhear  some  scathing  remark  about  it.    He  caught  at  it. 

"Asphaltum  not  permanent?  Hoi  Ho! — Wish  I  was  as  per- 
manent as  Asphaltimi " 

"Field  says  frequent  destruction  awaits  the  work  on  which  it  is 
much  employed " 

"All  humbug!" 

" owing  to  its  disposition  to  contract  and  crack  by  changes  of 

temper^iture " 


120  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

"Got  any  there?  Three  tubes?  Take  'em  all  and  pay  you  next 
week " 

But  Charles  was  much  too  princely  for  this  sort  of  thing.  He 
immediately  pressed  the  three  tubes  on  Mr.  Verrinder,  whose  eyes 
gleamed  with  joy  as  he  grasped  them.  "You're  a  gentleman,"  said 
he,  and  then  rushed  back  to  his  picture.  Charles  had  no  further 
conversation  with  him  then,  but  some  weeks  after  when  he  was 
painting  close  to  him  from  a  Turk  who  had  been  captured  and 
brought  in  to  sit  as  a  model,  Verrinder  turned  round  and  said 
abruptly : 

"I  haven't  forgotten  you  gave  me  three  tubes  of  Asphaltum. 
You're  a  gentleman!"  And  then  showed  signs  of  another  long 
retirement.  But  after  he  appeared  to  have  gone  for  good,  he  sud- 
denly came  back  and  exclaimed :  "Three  tubes  of  Asphaltum !  My 
God!" 

"I've  got  more  colours  than  1  want,"  said  Charles;  "isn't  there 
some  other  you  could  use  ?"  But  Verrinder  shut  his  lips  tight  and 
glared,  and  shook  his  head  with  extreme  rapidity. 

"No-no-no-no-no-no-no!"  said  he,  almost  in  one  word.  "I'm 
not  that  sort!  But  you're  a  gentleman.  There's  but  a  very  few 
left,  nowadays.  They're  all  Feejee  Injuns."  His  mispronouncing 
of  a  word  or  two  did  not  seem  to  be  from  want  of  education. 
"Injuns"  might  have  been  jocularity — a  word  spoken  quotation- 
wise. 

Charles  was  getting  his  own  canvas  into  a  terrible  mess,  owing 
to  the  Visitor  suggesting  he  should  use  Prussian  Blue  in  the  flesh, 
so  he  made  no  answer,  hoping  Verrinder  would  die  down.  But  he 
didn't. 

"Feejee  Injuns,  all  of  'em!  The  profession's  gone  to  the  Devil. 
But  don't  you  give  away  your  colours  too  freely.  Maybe  there'll 
come  a  time  when  you'll  wish  you'd  kept  some  of  'em."  This 
attitude  took  the  edge  off  his  reluctance  to  accept  a  further  dona- 
tion— in  fact,  seemed  to  make  it  difficult  not  to  offer  more.  Charles 
did  so,  and  said  he  really  had  too  many. 

"No-no-no-no-no!"  said  Verrinder  again.     'Tm  not  that  sort. 

But  look  at  my  box !    I'll  tell  you  something "    Charles  looked 

at  the  cumbrous  contrivance  of  trays  and  recesses,  so  blotched  and 
hidden  with  colour-squeezes  and  coagulated  oil  and  varnish  that 
it  was  hard  to  say  if  it  was  wood  or  metal.  He  decided  it  was 
metal,  not  japanned.  Verrinder  contined:  "That's  my  new  box! 
You  wouldn't  think  it,  but  it  is !  My  old  box  is  at  home— forty-five 
years!"  He  made  a  periodical  retreat,  knocking  down  an  easel  by 
the  way,  and  setting  it  up  again  as  he  returned. 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  121 

**My  old  box  was  Eeeves  &  Inwood,  Cheapside.  It  hadn't  tubes 
in  it.    Little  bladders  of  colour " 

"I  suppose  you  bought  it  second-hand?" 

"I  didn't  buy  it.  It  was  given  to  me.  Ah  deary  me,  yes !  It  was 
given  to  me."  And  he  became  silent  just  as  Charles  was  begin- 
ning to  feel  an  interest.  He  tried  to  make  him  begin  again,  by 
little  hints  and  suggestions,  but  these  failed.  He  remained  silent; 
but  next  time  the  model  was  sitting,  he  addressed  Charles  sud- 
denly, "You're  the  young  man  that's  taken  the  big  Studio,"  6ind 
then  went  on  to  give  the  street  and  the  number  of  the  house.  He 
ended  with  an  inflexible  laugh — "Ho!  Ho!" — and  was  rather  an 
annoyance  to  Charles,  who,  to  say  the  truth,  now  wished  he  had 
provided  himself  with  a  humbler  workshop.  He  said  something 
in  that  sense  to  Verrinder,  and  added,  "I  daresay  you  were  laugh- 
ing at  me  for  taking  a  great  big  place  out  of  all  proportion  to  my 
abilities  to  use  it." 

"Laughing  at  you!"  was  his  reply.  "No — no!  I  wouldn't  do 
that ! — ^not  the  man  to.  Didn't  you  give  me  three  tubes  of  Asphal- 
tum  ?  No — no !  I  was  laughing  to  think  how  near  fifty  years  it  is 
since  I  was  last  in  that  Studio." — An  inflection  towards  seriousness 
came  in  the  voice,  but  vanished  immediately. — "It  wasn't  a  Studio 
then — only  a  room.    The  high  window  was  carried  up  a  bit  later." 

"Who  was  it  occupied  it  then,  if  one  may  ask?"  Charles  was 
getting  very  curious,  but  was  afraid  he  might  by  some  blunder 
check  the  flow  of  information.  Verrinder  seemed  to  be  ready 
enough  to  talk  though,  having  once  begun.  He  mentioned  the 
name  of  a  well-known  portrait  painter  of  the  beginning  of  the 
century — and  added,  "It  was  he  put  in  the  high  window.  But 
that  was  after  he  turned  me  out." 

"Had  you  haK  the  Studio  then?"    Charles  was  puzzled. 

"No — it  wasn't  that  way  at  all.  I  was  his  assistant — sort  of 
pupil — used  to  paint  on  backgrounds — curtains — bits  of  furniture 
— pedestals  with  urns  on  'em.  He  gave  me  my  old  box.  Some  of 
the  bladders  in  it  were  very  old,  and  had  been  given  him  by,  who  do 
you  think? "    Charles  gave  it  up. 

"Joshua  Reynolds  himself!  There  now!"  And  Verrinder,  hav- 
ing successfully  surprised  his  hearer,  went  on  one  of  his  back- 
ward voyages.  When  he  returned  Charles  asked  him  why  his 
master,  or  employer,  had  turned  him  out. 

"Too  much  company!"  said  he.  "Ask  me  that  when  the  Feejee 
Injuns  have  gone." 

In  the  course  of  time  the  Indians  dispersed,  leaving  only 
Charles  and  Verrinder  and  a  negative  young  man  touching  up  his 


12a  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

Turk.  It  was  a  few  days  before  the  closing  of  the  Academy  Exhi- 
bition, and  the  place  was  the  dome  of  the  Trafalgar  Square  Build- 
ing, where  the  Academy  still  lived,  in  those  days,  though  the  time 
for  its  departure  to  Burlington  House  was  approaching.  The 
Exhibition  was  open,  the  antique  school  broken  up ;  and  the  paint- 
ing school  and  Life  school  proper  had  gone  upstairs  into  what 
the  derision  of  that  date  (which  we  ourselves  have  never  felt  in 
harmony  with)  thought  proper  to  call  Wilkins's  Pepper-Castor. 
As  soon  as  the  place  was  quiet,  and  the  enemy  had  trooped  down- 
stairs, Verrinder  resumed,  still  painting.  Charles  also  went  on 
painting,  as  he  wanted  to  hear.  But  he  pretended  to  want  to 
paint. 

"Why  did *  turn  me  out?    Well! — it  was  his  own  house, 

held  on  a  lease,  and  he  had  a  right  to.  Of  course  he  had  a  reason — 
thought  it  a  good  one,  no  doubt.  I  didn't.  Would  you  like  to  know 
what  it  was?"  Charles  fully  expected  if  he  gave  an  affirmative 
answer  to  be  met  with  "Then  I  shan't  tell  you !"  But  he  risked  it, 
saying  simply,  "Yes — I  should — very  much,"  and  was  quite  taken 
aback  by  the  directness  of  the  reply  he  got. 

"I  made  love  to  his  daughter.  That  was  the  reason.  Yes!  he 
turned  me  out  o'  the  house.    Forty-five  years  ago !    Rather  more !" 

Was  that  going  to  be  the  end  of  the  story  ?  thought  Charles.  No, 
not  quite  yet.  He  would  talk  more  if  you  let  him  alone.  No 
hurry!  Presently,  he  went  on,  dropping  his  voice,  and  dropping 
what  had  been  almost  a  sort  of  buffo  manner  with  it. 

"Yes — that  was  over  forty-five  years  ago!  And  I've  never  set 
foot  in  that  house  since.  Once  I  was  passing,  when  the  bills  were 
up;  and  I  half  thought  of  going  in.  But  I  thought  better  of  it. 
So  might  you  have " 

Charles  said  something  about  how  it  was  always  painful  to  go 
back  to  old  times,  and  then  felt  that  he  at  his  time  of  life  had  no 
right  to  moralise  to  this  man,  speaking  to  him  now  of  twenty 
years  before  his  birth.  He  was  a  dirty  and  poverty-stricken  old 
figure  of  fun  to  be  sure,  and  a  great  laughing-stock  to  the  thought- 
less boys  whose  last  footstep  had  just  died  on  the  stairs.  He  was 
grotesque  in  manner,  though  not  so  in  speech — or  very  slightly. 
He  had  a  habit  of  puffing  out  his  cheeks  and  throwing  up  his  eye- 
lids; but  it  did  not  seem  to  express  any  definite  phase  of  mind,  as 
it  would  come  at  any  time,  or  in  any  speech,  and  only  had  the 
effect  of  making  the  speaker  seem  not  in  earnest.  As  he  referred 
to  his  past,  and  made  his  hearer  feel  it  as  a  reality,  he  became 

*  This  name  is  omitted  for  obTioos  reasons.  It  is  that  of  a  portrait  painter 
well  known  at  the  time. 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  123 

more  and  more  a  strange  possible  connecting  link  with  a  still  older 
bygone  time.  Who  could  say  what  was  known  of  the  house  by  its 
occupant  of  fifty  years  ago,  and  of  its  traditions  now  long  for- 
gotten? Charles  thought  it  better  to  talk  about  the  house  itself 
as  the  most  likely  course  to  bring  about  revelations.  He  sketched 
the  present  occupants,  and  ended  up,  "Of  course  you  saw  about 
the  find  of  bones  in  the  vault — three  or  four  weeks  ago  ?" 

"I  see  nothing  nowadays.  What  bones?  Mutton-bones?"  This 
and  his  puffing  out  his  cheeks  at  this  moment  gave  an  appearance 
of  incredulity  or  ridicule. 

'^o.  Human  bones — a  whole  skeleton.  It  was  in  all  the 
papers " 


"I  never  see  the  papers.  I  never  see  anything.  Man's  bones 
or  woman's  bones?" 

"Woman's  bones." 

"Was  it  Phyllis  Cartwright?" 

"How  can  I  tell?  Nobody  knows  who  it  was.  All  the  anti- 
quarians are  trying  to  hunt  her  up,  and  are  not  getting  at  any- 
thing, so  far.    Who  was  Phyllis  Cartwright?" 

"Haven't  the  slightest  idea !"    This  was  puzzling. 

"Why  Phyllis  Cartwright  then  ?"  asked  Charles.  He  was  begin- 
ning to  think  the  man  was  not  taking  his  words  au  serieux;  the 
more  so  because  of  his  way  of  puffing  his  cheeks  out,  and  raising 
his  eyelids. 

"I  couldn't  say." 

"Something  must  have  made  you  think  of  Phyllis  Cart- 
wright  " 

"Something — yes!  Can't  say  what."  And  nothing  more  could 
be  got  from  Mr.  Verrinder.  But  it  seemed  as  if  what  he  said  was 
true,  and  that  the  name  Phyllis  Cartwright  had  really  suddenly 
come  into  his  head;  he  couldn't  tell  why!  He  became  silent  and 
preoccupied  for  a  time,  and  then  suddenly  saying — "Why  Phyllis 
Cartwright  ?"  as  if  he  had  been  trying  for  a  clue  to  her,  packed  up 
his  tubes,  wiped  his  palette,  and  rinsed  his  brushes  in  turpentine. 
The  final  cleaning  with  soap  was  in  a  washhouse  below,  and 
Charles  carried  his  own  brushes  down  also.  Both  cleaned  simul- 
taneously, Verrinder  sucking  his  brushes  to  shape  them  off,  and 
spitting  out  the  soapy  water.  "Why  Phyllis  Cartwright?"  said  he 
again,  and  glared  round  at  Charles  to  emphasise  enquiry,  with  a 
brush  in  his  mouth  like  a  flageolet.  Charles  could  throw  no  light 
of  course,  and  went  away  to  lunch  thinlcing  Verrinder  more  than 
merely  queer,  possibly  crazy.  Still,  he  had  known  something  about 
the  house,  from  forty  to  fifty  years  ago. 


124  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

Charles  had  spoiled  his  study  of  the  Turk,  whom  he  was  begin- 
ning to  paint  in  Prussian  Blue.    He  decided  not  to  go  back  till 

there  was  another  Visitor,  even  if  he  was  only  old  ,*  who 

always  wanted  flesh  painted  Indian  Red  and  black.  He  reappeared 
in  the  School  at  the  next  scene-shifting,  and  gave  away  his  Turk 
canvas  to  Verrinder,  who  cleaned  the  Prussian  Blue  beginning  off 
and  started  straightway  on  a  study  of  a  young  woman  with  a  good 
deal  of  confidence  in  her  own  appearance.  Charles  was  not  fortu- 
nate in  his  place,  perhaps  because  he  came  in  late.  He  was  some 
distance  off,  and  just  in  the  line  of  Verrinder's  backward  rushes. 
He  squared  in  an  ambiguity  with  charcoal,  with  the  splendid  inde- 
pendence of  a  true  Academy  student,  and  was  beginning  to 
squeeze  out  wormcasts  at  random  on  his  palette,  when  Verrinder 
backed  on  to  him,  and  begged  pardon.  He  had  inadvertently  blocked 
the  road.  Now,  he  wanted  to  talk  more  to  Verrinder;  and  what 
after  all  was  an  outline  ?  He  could  just  as  well  do  here,  three  feet 
off.  Indeed  the  outline  didn't  signify  really,  being  a  matter  of 
form  in  the  non-artistic  sense  of  that  phrase ;  in  the  artistic  one  it 
was  a  matter  of  amorphousness.  Charles  shifted  his  easel,  and  Ver- 
rinder expressed  his  gratitude,  repeating  his  conviction  that  Charles 
was  a  gentleman.  Presently  he  charged  back  again,  and  threw 
a  remark  to  Charles  en  passant.  "I've  found  Phyllis  Cartwright," 
said  he.  And  a  bystander  immediately  asked  what  sort  of  feet  had 
she,  imagining  she  was  a  Model.  Por  Art  seeks  for  ever  to  find  good 
feet  on  Models,  and  finds  them  not.  When  Verrinder  next  came 
back,  he  had  another  communication  to  make.  "Found  her  on  a 
picture  back — show  it  you!" — and  returned  to  his  easel  before 
Charles  could  reply. 

As  soon  as  time  came  for  the  Model  to  rest,  it  transpired  that 
the  name  was  on  the  back  of  the  frame  of  a  portrait  in  Mr.  Verrin- 
der's possession.  He  had  seen  it  there  on  some  previous  occasion ; 
and  had  retained  the  name,  though  he  had  forgotten  when  and 
where  he  had  seen  it.  "If  you  don't  mind  climbing  up,  I'll  show 
it  you,"  said  he.  Charles  got  the  impression  that  Verrinder  lived 
at  the  top  of  somewhere. 

When  the  sitting  was  over,  he  spoke  to  Verrinder  again  about 
Phyllis  Cartwright.  What  had  made  him  suppose  she  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  house  ? 

"Aha !"  replied  he,  "I  didn't  see  that.  But  you're  a  gentleman. 
You  won't  ask  questions.    So  I'll  tell  you  this  much.    The  portrait 

came  from  that  house— I'll  show  it  you "     He  looked  up  at 

Charles  as  if  he  thought  he  had  spoken.  "Eh?  There  was  noth- 
*'  Name  omitted  for  same  reason. 


ALICE-FOR-SHOKT  125 

ing  wrong.  But  you  won't  ask  questions.  It  was  all  forty — near 
on  fifty — years  ago."  His  voice  had  been  as  prosaic,  as  matter-of- 
fact  over  his  recollection  of  the  house,  even  when  he  told  how  he 
had  shrunk  from  going  over  it  again,  as  it  was  when  he  talked 
of  the  Asphaltum  tubes.  The  only  sign  he  showed  of  being  affected 
by  his  own  references  to  the  past  was  that  he  did  not  speak  again 
until  after  the  usual  brush-cleaning  had  been  gone  through,  and  he 
and  Charles  were  going  out.  Then  he  said  suddenly,  "If  you  like 
to  come  along  now,  I'll  show  it  you.  But  mind  you,  I  wouldn't  have 
done  it  only  you  gave  me  those  tubes.  It's  a  fine  colour — a  fine 
colour ! — And  I  can  feel  you'll  ask  no  questions."  He  lived,  he  said, 
out  Lambeth  way,  and  walked.  Charles  suggested  a  cab,  and  Ver- 
rinder  said — "Certainly.  You  pay." — And  a  hansom  was  enlisted, 
and  given  an  address  "over  beyond  the  Hospital." 

"Some  people  never  come  across  the  river,"  said  he  to  Charles; 
and  Charles  had  to  confess  that  he  had  very  seldom  done  so;  also 
that  he  had  never  been  in  the  streets  they  were  passing  through 
at  all,  and  didn't  know  their  names. 

Verrinder  lived  in  an  attic  at  the  top  of  a  high  house  certainly — 
but  an  inhabitant  of  any  continental  town  would  have  made  light 
of  it.  It  was  roomy  enough ;  but  was  choked  up  with  furniture,  old 
and  mouldy,  and  many  pictures  with  the  faces  turned  to  the  waUs. 
The  window  of  the  only  room  not  so  choked  up  opened  out  on  a 
small  square  of  leads,  sunk  in  the  roof  and  having  a  railing  out- 
side. It  looked  out  over  pleasant  enough  semi-suburban  gardens, 
now  lamenting  their  surrender  of  spring  green  to  the  London 
smoke.  Beyond  these  was  a  dome  that  seemed  to  belong  to  a  build- 
ing of  importance,  and  Charles  was  surprised  that  there  should  be 
in  London  so  large  a  structure  and  that  he  should  be  unable  to 
recognise  it.  He  felt  he  ought  to  know,  and  was  almost  ashamed 
to  ask.     Curiosity  won  the  day. 

"Is  that  building  over  there,  with  the  dome ?"  he  began;  and 

then  hesitated.  Verrinder  cut  him  short,  and  spared  him  confes- 
sion of  complete  ignorance. 

"The  Asyltim.  Yes !  Bedlam,  if  you  want  to  know."  His  man- 
ner was  half  curt  and  forbidding,  half  subdued.  "Here's  the 
picture!"  said  he,  abruptly.  He  opened  the  door  into  the  next 
room,  which  seemed  to  serve  as  his  bedroom,  though  visibly  half- 
full  of  lumber,  and  immediately  returned  with  a  canvas.  "And 
here's  the  name.  Phyllis  Cartwright  It  might  be  by  Romney. 
Very  inferior  to  Reynolds,  Romney!" 

"It  ought  to  be  valuable,"  said  Charles,  and  was  thinking  of  saying 
he  wondered  its  owner  had  never  sold  it,  as  it  didn't  seem  to  be  a 


126  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

family  portrait.  Verrinder's  answer  anticipated  something  of  the 
sort.  "Valuable — ^yes !  But  I  shan't  sell  it.  Shan't  sell  any  of  them ! 
They  used  to  hang  in  our  house.  They  came  straight  here.    They've 

never  been  moved "  and  then  he  stopped  short,  and  turned 

another  picture  round  from  the  wall — "Man  with  a  big  name,"  said 

he;  "don't  think  much  of  him!    Turner "  and  put  it  back  where 

it  was  before.  Charles  stood  looking  at  Phyllis  Cartwright,  and 
wishing  he  was  at  liberty  to  ask  questions.  After  all,  he  wasn't 
a  penny  the  wiser  for  seeing  a  picture,  merely  because  it  had  been 
in  the  house  in  old  times.  If  it  had  been  known  to  have  been 
painted  in  the  house,  or  that  its  subject  had  lived  in  the  house, 
that  would  have  been  quite  another  thing.  At  present,  Phyllis 
Cartwright  was  a  name,  and  her  portrait  an  oil-picture — obscured, 
as  is  the  manner  of  oil-pictures,  by  a  long  life  in  the  dark — so 
obscured  in  fact  that  it  would  have  been  hard  to  say  if  she  was 
dark  or  fair.  However,  Charles  had  promised  to  ask  no  questions, 
or  considered  that  he  had.  So  he  held  his  tongue  resolutely.  Pres- 
ently he  had  his  reward. 

"You're  a  gentleman!"  said  Verrinder.  "You  promised  and 
held  to  it — I  can  tell  you  some  more,  but  no  more  than  I  want  to 
tell."    He  spoke  as  if  afraid  of  being  catechised. 

"I  will  ask  nothing,"  said  Charles.    "You  may  trust  me " 

"The  picture  and  all  these  others  came  out  of  that  house  you  are 
at  now — came  out  long  before  you  were  bom.     They  belonged 

to ,  who  turned  me  out  of  the  house.    I  told  you  ?"    Charles 

nodded.  "He  bought  them  at  the  sale — the  Family  was  sold  up — 
name  was  Luttrell — been  there  a  long  time — since  the  house  was 

built "    He  made  a  short  pause,  then  said  abruptly,  "Well! — 

That's  pretty  well  all  I  can  tell  you!"  It  was  disappointing.  It 
was  also  most  difficult,  Charles  found,  to  make  any  comment  that 
would  not  seem  like  a  question.    But  he  found  something  to  say. 

"At  any  rate  that  is  something  to  know — I  have  not  been  able  to 
find  any  of  the  previous  history  of  the  house.  But  the  names 
LuttreU  and  Cartwright  may  give  us  a  clue  to  follow." 

"Luttrell  may — I'm  not  clear  about  Cartwright — my  memory's 
bad — I  know  they  were  a  very  fast  lot — cards  and  dice — that  sort 

of  thing.    I  suppose must  have  told  me  about  them  often — 

or  else "     And  he  stopped  again  with  a  deadlock.     But  he 

presently  resumed:  "As  for  why  your  story  of  the  bones  made  me 
think  of  Phyllis  Cartwright,  I  can  tell  no  more  than  Adam.  I 
must  have  seen  the  name  on  the  picture,  and  let  it  alone.  Stupid 
way  one  has !" 

"It  was  a  good  job  for  me,"  said  Charles,  "that  you  happened  to 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  127 

look  at  the  picture-back  just  when  you  did,  or  I  shouldn't  have 
known  about  Luttrell " 

"I  didn't  look  at  it.  I  was  dozin'  up  here — well  on  midnight  it 
was — and  it  crossed  my  mind.  Crossed  my  mind  where  it  was! 
And  then  I  pulled  out  this  frame  from  behind  the  others,  and 
there  it  was  sure  enough.  I  must  have  seen  it,  years  agone !  And 
it  had  slipped  my  memory.  Some  things  don't!  Some  things 
do! " 

Charles  felt  that  if  he  stopped  much  longer  he  should  forget  his 
promise  and  ask  questions.  So  he  made  a  pretence  of  being  due 
somewhere,  and  said  he  must  run.  But  he  had  profited  by  so  much 
as  the  name  of  the  old  holders  of  No.  40  amounted  to.  Ajid  there 
might  be  any  amount  of  connecting  link  among  all  these  dingy 
canvases.  He  credited  himself  with  a  wise  discretion  though  in 
not  trying  to  get  at  too  much.    He  was  sure  to  see  Verrinder  again. 

Charles  was,  no  doubt,  what  Peggy  had  called  him — "Charley 
Slowboy" — in  some  respects.  As  he  rode  away  to  a  very  late  lunch 
in  his  hansom,  a  number  of  speculations  crossed  his  mind  about 
Verrinder  that  Peggy  would  have  thought  of  at  once.  Was  he 
mad?  His  manner  was  very  odd,  certainly.  But  surely,  if  he  was 
mad,  he  never  would  go  to  live  in  sight  of  Bedlam.  Of  course 
unless  he  was  mad,  added  Charles  to  himself,  absurdly.  But  then 
suppose  his  only  symptom  of  insanity  was  that  he  went  to  live  in 
sight  of  Bedlam,  being  mad.  That's  a  very  circular  conundrum, 
thought  Charles,  and  gave  it  up.  He  went  on  to  another;  why  did 
Verrinder  live  in  apparently  such  poverty  when  he  had  pictures 
in  his  possession  visibly  of  great  value?  The  portrait  was  a  Rey- 
nolds or  a  Romney  at  the  least.  Nobody  could  say  what  the  value 
of  the  Turner  might  be.  If  all  the  rest  were  like  the  sample,  there 
might  be  thousands  of  pounds'  worth  of  pictures  in  that  attic.  And 
there  was  their  owner,  dirty  and  neglected,  in  a  very  old  black 
suit  that  glittered  with  polish  on  the  joints,  in  boots  with  patched 
upper  leathers,  in  a  coloured  shirt  with  a  traditionally  white  col- 
lar, held  only  by  a  front  button,  and  trying  to  climb  over  the  back 
of  his  head — altogether  a  miserable  waif,  such  as  one  may  see 
munching  sandwiches  furtively  in  corners  in  public  museums  and 
galleries.  There  had  been  no  appearance  of  anything  that  could 
be  called  lunch  or  dinner  that  Charles  could  recollect — stay!  was 
there  not  the  combination  known  as  "the  tray"  in  household  expe- 
rience, but  lacking  components?  Charles  felt  as  if  he  had  seen  a 
Dutch  cheese  near  a  vertical  beer-jug  with  a  cracked  lip;  but  he 
wasn't  sure ;  it  was  more  a  sentiment  than  an  image  that  was  left 
in  his  mind. 


128  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

Another  speculation  was:  Was  Verrinder  a  miser?  No — that 
wouldn't  do!  No  miser  in  his  senses  would  keep  such  valuable 
pictures.  If  he  was  very  clever  he  might,  with  a  view  to  a  rise  in 
price.  But  that  is  hardly  the  miser  character.  The  miser  longs 
for  specie,  and  goes  for  realisation.  The  dealer  has  far  sight  and 
fortitude;  in  the  miser  both  are  merged  in  cupidity — so  much  so 
that  he  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  the  real  gold  a  picture  was 
worth  being  in  another's  pocket  if  he  could  get  it  into  his  own. 
Oh  no  I  There  was  no  secret  hoard  in  this  case.  He  was  really 
as  poor  as  a  rat,  but  had  some  hidden  reason  for  holding  on  to  the 
pictures. 


CHAPTER  Xn 

OF  A  VISIT  OP  ALICE  TO  NO.  40,  AND  OF  THE  BED  MAN  WITH  THE  KNIFE 

When  Charles  told  Peggy  (some  days  after,  she  having  been 
away  at  a  friend's)  about  his  expedition  to  Lambeth  with  Verrin- 
der,  she  said  he  should  have  asked  more  questions.  After  all,  we 
were  none  the  wiser!  Mr.  Verrinder  remembered  the  house  a  very 
long  time  ago :  but  so  might  many  people.  Of  course  it  was  curious 
that  all  those  pictures  should  once  have  been  in  that  house;  but 
then  if  we  were  not  to  ask  questions  what  use  was  that  ?  Couldn't 
Mr.  Verrinder  be  persuaded  to  come  to  dinner  at  Hyde  Park  Gar- 
dens ?  Peggy  would  soon  find  out  a  lot  about  it  if  she  could  get  at 
him.  Charles  burst  out  laughing.  "Well!"  said  Peggy,  "I  don't 
see  anj'thing  so  very  absurd  in  that!  Why  shouldn't  Mr.  Ver- 
rinder come  to  dinner  at  Hyde  Park  Gardens?"  The  reason  she 
spoke  of  her  family  residence  by  its  name,  instead  of  saying, 
"here,"  was  that  she  and  Charles  were  at  his  Studio  when  this 
conversation  took  place. 

"Why  shouldn't  Mr.  Verrinder  come  to  dinner  at  Hyde  Park 
Gardens?"  repeated  Charles,  and  laughed  again.  "PU  be  hanged 
if  I  know,  Poggy — only  I  can't  help  laughing  for  all  that !  How- 
ever, I  don't  believe  he  would  come,  if  I  asked  him  ever  so.  But 
I  should  somehow  as  soon  think  of  sending  Mother  in  the  carriage 
to  leave  cards  on  Mrs.  Verrinder.  It's  not  because  he's  poor  and 
shabby,  poor  devil,  but  because  of  his  line  of  rumness — he  would 
be  out  of  his  element — as  much  so  as  a  Trappist  monk — more  so !" 

"I  didn't  know  there  was  any  Mrs.  Verrinder " 

"Nor  yet  I  didn't,  myself,  Poggy- Woggy,  till  the  other  day.  I 
don't  know  that  I  do  now,  because  she  may  be  as  dead  as  a  door- 
nail. But  there  either  is,  or  was,  a  Mrs.  V. — I  say!  what  a 
difficult  Art  painting  is!" — Peggy  assented,  and  he  went  on:  "I'm 
sick  of  painting  this  beastly  armour,  and  it  won't  come.  I  vote  I 
have  a  pipe,  and  you  may  ruffle  my  hair  for  me.  As  soon  as 
Partridge  and  Alice  come,  we'll  have  tea.  I've  bought  a  lot  of 
cakes  and  they're  in  that  parcel." 

"I'll  ruffle  your  hair.  But  you  must  blow  the  smoke  the  other 
way."    Charles  agreed,  and  the  weary  artist,  who  had  worked  with- 


130  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

out  intermission  for  quite  two  hours,  settled  down  to  his  pipe  on 
the  floor,  with  his  head  in  his  indulgent  sister's  lap.  They  were 
very  handsome  young  people,  certainly,  both  of  them. 

The  reason  they  were  there  at  this  particular  moment  was  that 
an  arrangement  had  been  made  that  Alice  (as  a  kind  of  native) 
should  show  Mrs,  Partridge  the  house,  for  a  treat.  Peggy  had 
been  deposited  by  her  mother  from  the  carriage,  while  Partridge 
and  Alice  were  to  walk  through  the  Park. 

"What  did  he  tell  you  about  Mrs.  Verrinder  ?"  said  Peggy,  falling 
back  on  the  conversation. 

"He's  never  mentioned  her  himself.  It  was  the  Curator  of  the 
Schools,  who  has  known  him  for  forty  years  past.  He  was  very 
taciturn,  but  was  curious  to  hear  all  I  had  to  tell  him  about  Ver- 
rinder's  housekeeping.  Said  he  went  to  see  him  there  once — thirty 
years  ago!  Asked  me  if  I  had  'made  out  anything'  about  his 
wife." 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"Oh,  of  course  I  said  he  hadn't  mentioned  her  to  me,  and  I 
didn't  know  he  had  a  wife.  He  replied  that  he  had  a  wife,  unless 
she  had  died  without  his  hearing  of  it.  'Not  very  likely,'  he  said. 
I  told  him  I  had  seen  no  sign  of  any  lady  in  the  place.  *0h,'  said 
he,  'that  would  make  no  difference.'  And  then  he  shut  up.  There's 
something  rum  about  it." 

"I  tell  you  what,  Charley.  I've  got  an  idea !  Mr.  Verrinder  must 
have  married  the  girl  he  was  turned  out  of  this  house  for  making 
love  to,  in  the  end — because  if  he  didn't,  how  came  he  into  posses- 
sion of  her  father's  property?  Don't  you  see?  Look  here,  silly 
boy — and  blow  the  smoke  the  other  way.  Now  listen  to  me !  First 
of  all  Mr.  Thingummy  E.  A.  turns  him  out  of  the  house  for  mak- 
ing up  to  his  daughter.    Very  well  then!" 

"I  don't  see  that  you're  getting  any  nearer.'* 

"Yes — I  am.  Don't  be  in  a  hurry!  Next  they  make  a  runaway 
match  of  it — the  young  people  do ;  of  course !" 

"That  was  all  right  and  natural,  when  the  parents  objected.  But 
you  don't  understand!  Verrinder  distinctly  said  he  hadn't  set 
foot  in  that  house  since  its  owner  turned  him  out  of  it.  That  was 
the  first  thing  he  said." 

"Yes — ^but  one  can  suppose  all  sorts  of  things.  He  may  have 
remained  obdurate — ^hardened  his  heart  and  died  unrepentant." 

"No — that  won't  do !  Verrinder  would  have  been  sure  to  go  into 
the  house  again  if  he  and  his  wife  inherited  the  things." 

"Perhaps  he  left  the  house  and  went  somewhere  else  before  he 
died  ?"  Charles  reflected,  and  blew  the  smoke  the  other  way.    "That 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  131 

seems  possible  and  reasonable,"  said  he.  "We'll  let  it  go  at 
that." 

"Who  are  the  people  who  have  come  into  the  big  back  room 
downstairs  ?"  asked  Peggy. 

"Picture  dealers,  I  believe.  They  want  to  alter  the  little  oval 
skyKght — say  there's  no  light.  Jeff  is  very  indignant.  Says  its 
Vandalism " 

"Oh! — Mr.  Jerrythought.     But  is  there  no  light?" 

"Jeff  says  it's  a  glorious  old  Queen  Anne  house,  and  it's  wicked 
to  alter  it." 

"I  shouldn't  pay  any  attention  to  Mr.  Jerrythought  if  I  was  the 
picture  dealer.    It  was  a  ballroom,  wasn't  it  ?" 

"Jeff  says  so.    He's  in  Queen  Anne's  confidence " 

"Isn't  that  Alice's  voice?"  Yes,  it  is.  And  in  comes  Alice, 
much  excited  at  her  position  as  show-woman,  or  patroness,  of  the 
house,  Mrs.  Partridge  never  having  been  there  before.  Alice's 
speech  and  appearance  have  improved  enormously.  Really  if  we 
had  not  had  our  eyes  on  her  for  the  past  few  months,  unknown 
to  our  readers,  we  should  not  have  recognised  her,  and  then  per- 
haps we  should  have  written  that  a  pretty  blue-eyed  maiden  with 
mouse-coloured  hair,  nicely  dressed  in  a  Japanese  blue-print  frock 
and  a  cap  of  the  same  colour,  came  running  rather  flushed  into 
the  room,  and  that  we  did  not  recollect  having  seen  her  before. 
As  it  is  we  are  in  a  position  to  assure  them  that  this  little  girl  was 
the  very  selfsame  Alice  that  was  knocked  down  by  those  naughty 
little  boys  in  the  fog,  and  saved  from  a  whipping  by  Charles  Heath. 
And  those  little  boys  were  no  doubt  still  pursuing  their  career  of 
insubordination  and  depravity,  while  Alice  had  by  the  merest  acci- 
dent been  lifted  high  above  them  in  the  social  scale,  and  had  not,  so 
far,  done  anything  to  disappoint  her  patrons. 

Eight  months  is  a  good  long  period  in  the  life  of  a  child  of  six — 
over  ten  per  cent,  of  the  whole,  we  believe — and  Alice  had  the 
impression  that  she  had  lived  a  very  very  long  time  at  Hyde  Park 
Gardens  under  the  chronic  control  and  government  of  Mrs.  Part- 
ridge, subject  to  occasional  interventions  from  the  higher  regions. 
Indeed,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  occasions  were  frequent;  and  a 
whole  day  rarely  passed  in  which  Alice  did  not  find  her  way  into 
the  drawing-room  on  some  pretext  or  other;  while  Pe^y  for  her 
part,  and  Charles  on  his  intermittent  visits  at  home,  were  frequent 
visitors  in  the  housekeeper's  room.  But  by  this  time  Alice  has 
come  into  the  room,  and  she  is  so  anxious  to  speak,  we  must  not 
keep  her  waiting.  She  was  too  full  of  her  mission  to  allow  of  any 
observance  of  mere  artificial  forms,  and  plunged  at  once  in  medias 


132  ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 

res.  Her  pronunciation  was  still  far  from  perfect,  but  much  im- 
proved. An  altering  phase  of  teeth  had  made  her  lisp  take  another 
form,  and  great  efforts  had  got  rid  of  both  lidy  and  loydy,  and 
obtained  in  exchange  an  approach  to  lady.  We  shall  very  soon  be 
able  to  print  Alice  without  her  pronunciation ;  it  will  be  so  normal. 

"Mustn't  I  sow  Mrs.  Parkridge  downstairs,  all  where  Pussy  was, 

and  Mr.  Charley  came  down  ever  so  long  ago "  and  here  Alice's 

.voice  got  a  kind  of  puzzled  ruefulness  as  she  added:  "and  where 
there  used-ed  to  be  father  and  mother  ?" 

Partridge,  feeling  it  due  to  her  dignity  to  dissociate  herself 
from  the  thoughtless  enthusiasm  of  childhood,  remarked  in  con- 
fidence to  the  grown-up  world  that  we  were  quite  wild  with  excite- 
ment; and  then  remained  aloft.  Charles  gave  the  authorisation 
asked  for. 

"Of  course  you  shall,  Alice-for-short !  That's  what  you've  come 
for.  Now  listen!  You  go  downstairs  into  the  office — no!  stop! 
wait  till  I  tell  you  what  to  say — and  ask  the  gentleman  there  to 
allow  you  to  show  Mrs.  Partridge  all  through  the  shops.  Say 
you're  Miss  Kavanagh  that  used  to  live  here."  Perhaps  the  last 
instruction  didn't  reach,  as  Alice  was  off,  after  repeating,  to  show 
her  clear  understanding :  "Mrs.  Parkridge  all  f roo  the  sops."  For 
th  and  /  were  still  ambiguous,  in  unstudied  speech. 

"We  won't  go  down,  Peggy,  it  makes  such  a  lot  of  us — too  great 
a  visitation!"  And  Partridge  follows  Alice  under  assumption 
of  guardianship,  but  really  very  curious  to  see  where  the  bones 
were  found.    Peggy  and  Charles  can  always  go  on  chatting. 

"How  are  you  and  the  Doctor  getting  along,  Poggy  ?" 

"What  a  silly  boy  you  are!  Why  should  the  Doctor  (as  you 
call  him)  and  I  'get  along' " 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  call  him?  Why  shouldn't  you  get 
along ?" 

"I  don't  see  that  any  get-alonging  comes  into  the  matter.  Dr. 
Johnson  and  I  are  very  good  friends  and  always  shall  be — if  I  have 
my  way.  As  to  what  I  want  you  to  call  him — of  course  one  would 
naturally  prefer  to  call  him  Rupert — it's  such  a  pretty  name !  Only 
when  a  man's  inclined  to  behave  like  that,  you  can't  call  him  by 

his  Christian  name,  nor  he  yours "    You  see,  when  a  young 

lady  is  talking  to  her  brother,  she  needn't  construct  her  sentences 
carefully.    Charles  quite  understood. 

"You  like  Johnson  a  deal  better  than  Captain  Bradley?" 

"Captain  Bradley!  Better  than  an  omnibus-full  of  Captain 
Bradleys.    Ugh ! — what  a  horrible  idea !" 

"I  suppose  Eobin's  told  you  about  the  Captain?" 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  133 

**No!    Has  he  consoled  himself  ?"     (Eoused  curiosity!) 

'TTes — a  Miss  Callender — Edith  Callender."  Peggy  appeared 
to  know  the  lady,  but  not  to  admire  her  extravagantly.  "The  idea !" 
said  she.  "Edith  Callender ! ! !  Well — ^he  is  easily  consoled.  How- 
ever, I  suppose  it's  all  right ! "    Are  we,  we  wonder,  altogether 

wrong  in  surmising  that  Peggy  was  human  enough  to  feel  almost 
no  pique,  instead  of  quite  none,  at  the  man  she  wouldn't  have  mar- 
ried (so  she  said)  with  a  pair  of  tongs,  and  at  an  omnibus-full 
of  whom  she  fairly  shuddered,  having  given  up  wearing  the  willow 
on  her  account,  and  consoled  himself  with  inferiority  ?  No !  Peggy 
was  quite  distinctly  human,  for  all  her  philosophy.  Charles  evi- 
dently thought  so,  for  he  said,  "Don't  be  jealous,  Poggy-Woggy ! 
You  wouldn't  have  the  Captain  yourself.  You  didn't  expect  him  to 
ask  your  leave  to  marry  Miss  Callender,  did  you?" 

"He'd  got  it  already.  I  wonder  if  he  told  Miss  Callender  about 
— all  his  previous  offers !" 

'^Particularly  his  last  one.  I  wonder  if  the  Doctor  means  to  tell 
the  next  he  offers  to  about  Miss  Peggy  Heath " 

"Oh  no!  Rupert  Johnson's — quite  a  different  sort!  Quite!  I 
wish  he  would  though — ^but  he  won't " 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"I  know  he  won't " 

"You  seem  to  know  a  lot  about  him.  I  tell  you  what,  Peg;  I 
don't  believe  you  would  be  glad  if  another  girl  accepted  Johnson — 
you'd  be  sorry.    At  least,  you'd  be  glad  if  she  rejected  him " 

''Rejected  Rupert  Johnson!  I  should  like  to  see  a  girl  reject 
him.  The  minx!"  And  Peggy  seems  genuinely  indignant  with 
this  shadowy  damsel. 

"You  did  it  yourself,  Pog,  anyhow!" 

"No — Charley  dear — be  fair!  I  never  rejected  the  poor  dear 
fellow.  I  only  warned,  cautioned,  and  earnestly  entreated  him,  like 
the  passengers'  heads  out  of  the  carriage  windows.  It  wouldn't 
have  been  right  not  to,  when  I'd  made  up  my  mind.  I  think  I 
shall  make  the  tea  now.    They  can't  be  much  longer." 

A  step  was  heard  outside,  and  Peggy  said :  "There  they  are " 

But  Charles  said:  "No,  that's  Jeff.  We  must  let  him  come  in — 
he  always  comes  to  tea.  Well!  you  know,  I  couldn't  tell  him  you 
were  coming  and  hated  him,  and  so  he  must  keep  out.     Could 

I? "    Peggy  laughed  aloud:  "I  don't  hate  Mr.  Jerrythought," 

said  she. 

He  was  admitted,  to  make  the  tea.  It  was  his  prerogative  on 
ordinary  occasions,  and  he  knew  where  things  were.  When  you 
don't  know  where  things  are  you  cannot  make  tea.    He  set  him- 


184  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

self  to  the  making  of  the  tea  with  a  fervid  intensity  that  perhaps 
went  beyond  the  scope  of  his  subject.  No  amount  of  concentration 
will  enable  you  to  make  tea  well  beyond  a  certain  point.  Jefi 
was  destined  to  overshoot  his  mark,  and  make  the  tea  too  strong. 
It  had  to  be  weakened  after  pouring  out;  and,  as  we  all  know, 
it's  not  the  same  thing. 

"Never  mind,  Mr.  Jerrythought  I"  said  Peggy,  "it's  a  fault  on  the 
right  side.  If  it  had  been  too  weak  we  should  never  have  forgiven 
you.  Should  we,  Alice?"  For  Alice  and  Mrs.  Partridge  had  re- 
turned from  their  subterranean  expedition,  but  Alice  had  been  so 
silent  that  we  have  had  nothing  to  report  of  her,  and  the  story  has 
been  silent  too.  Peggy  put  it  down  to  her  recollections  of  her  par- 
ents having  come  upon  her  and  made  her  thoughtful.  But  then, 
wasn't  Partridge  also  a  little  distraite?    She  had  no  associations. 

Alice  replied  briefly  to  Peggy's  question:  "No — we  never  sould 
have  forgiven  Mr.  Jellyfork";  but  the  subject  didn't  seem  to  com- 
mand her  attention.  Neither  did  the  cakes  Charles  had  so  sedu- 
lously provided.  Alice  was  quite  another  Alice  from  the  little  girl 
who  had  rushed  tumultuously  downstairs  to  show  Partridge  over 
the  estate,  only  half-an-hour  ago.  The  latter,  in  reply  to  an  under- 
toned  enquiry  from  Peggy,  disclaimed  stomach-ache  on  Alice's  be- 
half. The  child  was  fanciful,  that  was  all  I  She  would  tell  Peggy 
as  soon  as — ^presently ! — ^the  obstacle  to  immediate  revelation  being 
Mr.  Jerrythought.  This  naturally  added  to  Peggy's  desire  that 
that  young  gentleman  should  discontinue  his  review  of  the  London 
Stage,  and  go.  He  for  his  part  became  aware  that  something  was 
amiss,  but  of  course  pitched  on  the  wrong  thing.  He  thought  it 
was  the  tea,  and  strove  to  make  up  for  it  by  brilliant  anecdotes 
of  Carlotta  Leclerq,  and  even  what  a  chap  he  knew  had  told  him 
about  Madame  Vestris,  and  so  forth.  And  the  more  Peggy  wanted 
him  to  go,  the  more  he  strove  to  compensate  for  the  strong  tea. 
So  that  no  one  was  any  the  wiser  when  Mrs.  Heath  and  Ellen,  in 
the  carriage  on  the  way  back  from  a  call  in  Russell-square,  came 
to  pick  up  Alice  and  Peggy  by  appointment.  Partridge  would 
take  the  'bus,  and  Charles  was  going  to  dress  at  the  Studio,  and  go 
out  to  dinner. 

"Queer  little  cuss,  your  protegee!"  said  Jeff,  when  the  party  had 
dispersed.    "She  ain't  a  chatterbox." 

"She  didn't  seem  like  herself,"  said  Charles.  'Terhaps  it  was 
finding  the  whole  place  so  changed." 

When  Charles  walked  into  his  Studio  on  his  return  from  his 
dining  out,  he  found  a  hand-delivered  note  on  his  easel,  and  saw 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  136 

it  was  from  Peggy.  Alice  was  in  a  very  queer  state — seemed  to 
have  had  a  fright,  Peggy  would  wait  up  till  twelve  in  case  he  was 
early  enough  to  come  on.  She  would  like  to  see  him  as  soon  as 
possible.  Charles  secured  his  Hyde  Park  Gardens  latch-key  from 
another  pocket,  and  got  a  hansom.  He  would  be  there  by  eleven- 
thirty;  for  had  not  the  Brown-Smiths  bored  him,  and  caused  him  to 
have  important  work  to-morrow,  which  a  long  night's  rest  was 
essential  to?  In  about  twenty  minutes  the  latch-key  had  fulfilled 
its  function,  and  was  back  in  his  pocket. 

Peggy's  voice  came  down  the  stairs  to  him :  "Is  that  you,  Charley  ? 
I'm  so  glad  you're  come.  Alice  has  quite  frightened  us.  Really  one 
gets  afraid  about  her  poor  little  head."  Charles  went  upstairs, 
reflecting  on  the  best  phrases  in  which  to  pooh-pooh  nervous 
females. 

"Of  course  it's  no  use  for  me  to  say  anything." — It  is  Mrs.  Heath 
that  speaks,  on  the  point  of  majestic  retirement  to  the  upper 
regions. — "But  if  I  were  at  liberty  to  say  exactly  what  I  thought, 
it  would  be " 

"Yes — Mamma  dear — what  would  it  be?" — for  Mamma  had  not 
provided  herself  with  her  opinion  when  she  began,  her  attention 
being  concentrated  on  her  status  as  an  authority.  She  required 
two  or  three  seconds  to  think  of  one,  and  meanwhile  had  to  fill 
in  with  collateral  matter. 

"My  dear,  you  know  I  always  am  silenced,  so  I  hold  my  tongue ! 
But  I  think,  all  the  same ! — as  for  the  little  girl,  you  know  what  I 
think,  because  I  have  said  it  several  times  already.  She  is  full 
of  fancies,  and  if  you  listen  to  her,  you  will  only  make  her  worse. 
She  ought  to  have  a  good  dose  of  Dover's  powder,  and  have  no 
attention  paid  to  her,  and  she  would  soon  be  set  right.  However, 
don't  pay  any  attention  to  me!"  And  Mrs.  Heath  went  upstairs 
like  the  only  person  in  sight  in  a  procession. 

Charles  and  Peggy  sought  the  drawing-room,  and  said  they  would 
turn  the  gas  off,  and  Phillimore  might  go  to  bed.  "The  others" 
were  not  home,  and  Papa  was  in  "the  Library" — a  place  where 
some  titles  of  books  were  sometimes  perused  through  plate  glass. 
Peggy  hushed  down  a  burner  or  two  (not  to  have  her  eyes  glared) 
and  said  she  supposed  she  had  better  begin  and  tell  it  all  from  the 
beginning. 

"You  know,"  she  continued,  "we  both  thought  Alice  very  silent 
at  tea.  Well!  She  didn't  say  a  word  all  the  way  home,  and  only 
cuddled  up  to  me  in  the  carriage.  Of  course  we  got  here  an 
immense  long  time  before  Partridge.  When  we  got  in,  I  kissed  the 
child  and  said  here  we  were  back  again,  and  I  hoped  she'd  enjoyed 


186  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

herself.  Do  you  know  she  only  shook  her  head  in  that  comic  rueful 
way  she  has,  and  didn't  speak  a  word." 

"Was  she  crying  ?    Had  she  been  crying  ?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it !  Let  me  go  on  telling.  I  said,  'What  is  it,  Alice 
dear?  What's  the  matter?  You'll  tell  me  what's  the  matter — 
won't  you?' — But  she  only  shook  her  head  and  kept  her  mouth 
shut,  till  I  said  to  her  seriously — 'You  know,  Alice,  Mr.  Charley 
will  be  afraid  to  have  you  at  his  Studio  unless  you  enjoy  going — 

he'll  think  you're  frightened  of  the  lady  with  the  spots '    And 

what  do  you  think  she  answered? — 'I  sould  be  frightened  to  go 
once  more — only  not  the  lady ' — 'What  would  you  be  fright- 
ened of,  Alice  dear?'  said  I — and  she  answered,  'I  sould  be  fright- 
ened of  the  man  downstairs — the  man  with  the  knife ' " 

"Oh,  of  course !"  said  Charles,  "I  understand  it  all.  It  was  Pope's 
man,  Buttivant,  who  lead-lines  up  the  windows.  The  man  of  light 
and  leading,  we  wittily  call  him,  JefE  and  I.  He  makes  horrible 
grimaces " 


"He  hasn't  any  knife- 


"Oh  yes,  he  has!  A  putty-knife  to  jam  in  all  along  the  leads, 
and  then  wipe  them  sharp  along  the  flange  to  close  it  down.  He 
does  a  good  deal  of  work  with  the  knife.  Depend  on  it  that 
was  it!" 

"Well !  Wait  till  you've  heard  it  all,  and  then  explain.  I  thought 
it  was  Mr.  Pope,  or  one  of  his  men;  and  I  said,  'You  mustn't  be 
frightened  of  Mr.  Pope,  nor  any  of  his  workmen,  Alice.  They 
won't  hurt  you!'  And  then  she  said,  oh  no!  it  wasn't  Mr.  Pope 
at  all.  Mr.  Pope  was  a  very  nice — good — man,  and  showed  her 
blue  things  and  green  things  and  red  things,  and  tooked  her  hand 
downstairs.  And  then  I  made  her  tell  about  the  men  in  the 
shop,  and  the  man  you  describe  must  be  the  one  she  called  Mr. 
Puttyknife — it  was  natural.  So  then  I  pressed  to  find  out  who  the 
man  was,  and  it  seemed  he  was  a  bad  man  in  a  red  dress,  with  a 
long  long  straight  knife,  so  long  as  that !  It  was  a  red  knife,  and 
the  man  was  red,  and  he  came  along  by  the  door  where  mother 
came  when  the  jug  broke " 

"The  door  of  the  kitchen,  where  they  do  the  leading  up  now- 


*Tes — because  they  went  in  and  found  Mr.  Puttyknife.  And 
he  smelt  of  ile-paint,  only  very  strong.  But  Alice  must  have  been 
completely  upset  by  the  red  man  with  the  knife;  and  when  Part- 
ridge came  in  an  hour  later  (she  stopped  in  Oxford  Circus  to  buy 
me  something)  she  gave  me  her  version  of  the  story.  I'm  afraid 
she's  gone  to  bed." 

**Never  mind — teU  me  what  she  said " 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  187 

"That  Alice  was  in  the  best  of  spirits  till  they  went  downstairs. 
She  had  made  great  friends  with  Mr.  Pope,  looking  at  the  coloured 
glasses — and  went  downstairs — 'hold  of  his  hand.'  Then  when 
they  got  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  Alice  'gave  a  shrink,  and  caught 
up  to  Mr.  Pope.'  I'm  giving  you  Partridge's  words.  Mr.  Pope 
asked  if  she  was  afraid  he  was  going  to  run  away,  and  she 
answered  something  Partridge  thought  was  nonsense  about  where 
had  the  man  with  the  knife  gone.  Mr.  Pope  said  what  man,  and 
she  answered  the  red  man.  And  then  Mr.  Pope  thought  she  meant 
a  figure  in  red  in  the  glasses.  Saint  Somebody,  and  said  of  course 
he'd  gone  to  Heaven,  because  he  was  a  Saint.  Whereupon  Alice 
said  (it  really  was  very  funny,  and  I  can't  help  laughing  at  it)  that 
she  hoped  he  hadn't  gone  to  Heaven,  because  father  was  there; 
and  Miss  Peggy,  that  she  belonged  to,  had  said  so!  But  after 
that  she  never  said  a  word,  and  seemed,  said  Partridge,  quite  out 
of  it." 

"Well,"  said  Charles,  "that  is  a  funny  story !"  And  not  a  single 
correct  accredited  way  of  dealing  with  a  tale  of  this  sort  could 
he  think  of,  better  than  that  the  child  must  have  been  feverish,  and 
had  eaten  too  much  pudding.  "But  did  she  stop  out  of  it  after 
that  altogether?" 

"It  looks  like  it,"  said  Peggy.  "Well!  You  know  how  she  was 
when  she  came  upstairs — and  all  your  beautiful  cakes  were  left! 
But  she  seemed  very  well  in  herself  till  about  an  hour  later,  when 
Partridge  came  to  me  and  told  me  she'd  got  very  hot  and  feverish, 
and  it  was  then  I  wrote  the  note  off  to  you,  because  I  was  fright- 
ened about  her  head :  however,  she  went  to  sleep  all  right  after.  It 
was  no  use  sending  another  note  to  you,  not  to  come." 

"Oh  no!  I  can  sleep  here  now  I've  come."  Only,  Charles 
wasn't  going  to  retire  with  that  object  until  he  had  made  some  little 
stand  on  behalf  of  the  attitude  of  mind  towards  the  Intrinsically 
Improbable  that  is  sanctioned  by  Common  Sense;  with  which 
also  rests  the  function  of  grouping  the  Impossible,  the  Probable, 
and  the  Actual,  with  good  sharp  boundary  lines  between  the 
groups. 

"I'm  pretty  clear  about  what  it  really  was.  Peg,"  said  he.  "The 
fever  was  really  the  cause,  not  the  effect,  of  the  hallucination. 
It  was  a  case  of  suppressed  fever." 

"Case  of  suppressed  fiddlesticks'  ends  I"  said  Peggy.  "Go  to  bed  I" 


CHAPTER  Xin 

OF    8HELLAC0MBE    SANDS,    AND    WHAT    PEGGY    THOUGHT    THERE.      AND 
WHOM    SHE    MET    THERE 

If  the  bones  of  the  murdered  woman  were  flattering  themselves 
that  Psychical  Research  was  going  to  throw  a  light  on  their  history 
and  identity,  they  were  destined  to  disappointment.  For  the 
period  of  London's  annual  flight  to  the  country  had  come,  and  the 
Heath  family  were  off.  In  fact,  they  were  overdue  in  the  country 
already,  for  most  of  London  that  was  worth  the  name  had  gone 
some  weeks  back,  at  the  time  of  the  events  of  last  chapter.  A 
good  hundred  thousand  probably  had  been  deducted  from  the  four 
millions  odd  that  made  up  the  metropolis,  and  now  there  was 
nobody  left.  Almost!  If  Parliament  hadn't  been  sitting  so  late 
it  would  have  been  quite. 

Psychical  Research  requires  at  least  one  votary  of  diabolical 
tenacity  of  purpose  to  keep  the  life  in  it.  Almost  every  living 
human  creature  has  some  measure  of  interest  in  Ghosts  and 
Bogies,  but  it  is  a  measure  that  is  very  apt  to  run  out  after  say 
twenty  minutes  sitting  at  an  unresponsive  table,  with  your  little 
fingers  in  contact  with  your  neighbours'  "to  keep  up  the  current" ; 
or  after  maybe  sleeping  one  night  in  a  haunted  house  and  not 
seeing  a  grey  woman;  or  covering  a  quire  of  foolscap  with  plan- 
chette  writing  from  your  co-querist's  first  husband  and  then  find- 
ing that  she  is  Miss  (whereas  you  thought  for  certain  she  was 
Mrs.)  Smith;  or  being  told  that  young  Blank  had  confessed  that 
it  was  he  pushed  the  table,  just  to  show  what  awful  asses  the  Com- 
pany (including  yourself)  were.  It  is  true  the  interest  will  revive 
sooner  or  later;  but  it  is  an  intermittent  one,  and  requires  philo- 
sophical thought  and  temper  to  do  it  full  justice.  In  the  common- 
place mind  it  is  apt  to  lapse  unless  kept  up  to  the  mark  by  the 
stimulus  of  a  neighbouring  philosopher.  Let  us  all  do  honour 
to  those  who  (according  to  the  testimony  of  their  scientific  oppo- 
nents) have  passed  through  long  periods  of  patient  research 
watching  for  spectres  that  never  come;  weighing  mediums  in 
vacuo  and  finding  they  weigh  exactly  what  you  would  expect; 
grappling  with  other  mediums  who  worm  their  way  out  of  the 

138 


ALICE-FOK-SHOKT  139 

cabiBet  in  the  dark;  and  getting  smudged  by  materialisations  with 
Vermillion  and  lamp-black  superposed  on  the  medium  for  test- 
purposes.  Never  mind  if  I  put  some  of  these  points  wrongly: 
join  me  in  admiration  of  the  persistent  philosophy  that  recognises 
the  fact  that  no  amount  of  negative  evidence  absolutely  proves  that 
anything  whatever  isn't  due  to  any  cause  we  choose  to  invent  a 
name  for. 

Charles  and  Peggy  were  under  no  obligation  to  invent  new  names 
for  the  spectral  appearance  that  had  terrified  Alice.  Supernatural ; 
hallucination  of  the  senses;  idea  with  the  force  of  a  sensation; 
subliminal  consciousness,  stimulated  by  unconscious  hypnotic  sug- 
gestions from  bystanders  (Is  that  right  ?  We  have  misgivings.) ; 
purely  subjective  phenomenon;  all  these  were  ready  to  hand,  and 
you  could  take  which  you  liked;  or  different  ones  at  different 
times.  Charles  was  in  favour  of  No.  2;  for  after  all,  did  not  both 
parents  drink  ?    You  couldn't  get  over  that. 

One  thing  was  quite  certain — that  when  Peggy,  who  inclined  to 
No.  1  was  away  at  Shellacombe,  and  Charles  was  left  to  himself 
and  his  incredulities,  nothing  further  would  be  done  in  the  way  of 
investigation.  Alice  of  course  went  to  the  seaside.  Charles  began 
to  be  aware  that  his  protegee,  whom  he  had  carried  off  to  his 
father's  house  without  asking  himseK  where  she  was  to  go  next  if 
she  was  not  welcome,  was  becoming  a  member  of  the  family.  He 
saw  that  this  was  because  she  was  such  a  dear  little  thing,  and  got 
hold  of  everybody,  as  well  as  himself  and  Peggy.  He  was  grate- 
ful to  her  for  being  one.  A  nice  fix  it  would  have  been,  said  he  to 
himself,  if  Alice-for-short  had  turned  out  a  little  beast! 

Alice-f or-short  seemed  likely  to  prove  Alice-for-long,  or  Alice-for- 
good;  probably  the  latter.  None  the  less  because  of  her  aptitude 
for  instruction,  and  greed  for  information  in  the  glorious  new 
world  in  which  she  found  herself.  It  was  little  wonder  that  the 
dreadful  past  was  getting  dimmer  and  dimmer — rapidly  becoming 
a  dream. 

But  Peggy,  noting  this,  noted  also  that  of  this  dream  there  was  a 
survival — an  idealised  memory — that  seemed  to  her  an  injustice, 
but  always  inevitable.  For  Alice  treasured  the  recollection  of  her 
father  as  a  good  and  glorious  being,  constantly  adding  to  his 
imaginary  perfections  as  time  went  on.  But  of  her  mother  no 
memories  were  pleasant.  She  spoke  without  resentment  of  the 
punishments  she  had  so  often  received  at  her  mother's  hands;  but 
she  clearly  thought  justice,  or  vengeance,  was  her  mother's  func- 
tion; and  love  was  her  father's.  Peggy  fretted  under  what  seemed 
to  her  the  unfairness  of  it  all.    If  (which  was  conceivably  possible. 


140  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

however  improbable)  the  child's  mother  could  see  from  some  other 
state  of  existence  (or  of  something  equivalent  in  its  degree  to 
what  we  call  existence)  the  child's  memories  respectively  of  her 
husband  and  herself,  she  must  needs  feel  the  exquisite  cruelty  of 
the  order  of  creation  that  had  warped  her  life:  except  indeed 
some  higher  wisdom  had  come  to  show  her  that  wrong  was 
really  right — but  in  a  sense  that  our  finite  intelligences  cannot 
grasp. 

Peggy  would  say  to  herself  at  this  stage  of  her  mental  review  of 
the  subject,  "But  then  my  intelligence  is  finite,  and  can  only  per- 
teive  the  cruelty  and  the  wrong.  I  refuse  to  tell  any  lies  about 
what  I  think  and  feel  now,  because  one  day  I  may  think  other- 
wise." And  she  would  always  wind  up  with  "At  any  rate  I  won't 
marry  and  bring  children  into  such  a  world — and  any  child  that 
wants  to  be  bom  must  find  another  mother  than  I,  finite  intel- 
ligence or  no !" 

She  had  almost  attempted,  once  or  twice,  to  procure  an  affec- 
tionate leniency  towards  her  dead  mother  from  Alice,  and  had 
felt  the  hopelessness  of  the  attempt.  The  mother's  excuse  had 
turned  on  the  fact  that  she  had  led  a  poisoned  life — that  she  was 
always  drugged,  and  that  her  personal  identity  had  no  chance 
against  the  drug.  And  Alice  was  far  too  young  to  understand 
the  course  of  events  that  had  vitiated  her  blood  and  made  her  to 
all  intents  and  purposes  some  one  else.  For  the  creature  that 
Charles  had  seen  on  that  occasion  of  the  broken  jug  was  much 
more  Alcohol  than  a  woman.  When  Peggy  spoke  with  her  at  the 
Hospital,  on  her  deathbed,  the  obsession  had  been  removed  and 
the  woman  had  come  again,  just  as  truly  as  the  demoniac's  sane 
soul  returned  to  him  when  the  Gadarene  swine  rushed  to  the  lake 
and  bore  his  curse  away  for  ever.  She  had  come  back,  and  knew 
and  could  tell  her  own  story.  How  hard  it  seemed  that  no  road  to 
the  same  end  could  have  been  found,  short  of  a  deathbed  in  a 
Hospital,  brought  about  by  a  murderous  blow  that  was  itself  a 
chord  in  the  long  symphony  of  Drink  that  sounded  through  the 
last  years  of  her  life !  If  she  could  only  have  been  convicted  of  a 
theft,  and  sent  to  prison,  she  might  have  been  redeemed.  But 
where  was  the  use  of  saying  any  of  this  to  a  child  ?  Some  day,  per- 
haps, Alice  would  be  able  to  understand  her  mother's  life,  and  see 
that  she  alone  was  not  to  blame. 

Alice's  rescue  from  the  slime  and  the  mire  was  to  be  a  remunera- 
tive one  to  her  rescuers,  and  no  disappointment.  It  might  easily 
have  been  otherwise.  It  may  be  that  two-thirds  of  the  human 
saplings  that  plead  for  space  and  light  and  culture  in  the  great 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  141 

hells  of  civilisation  would  give  very  little  joy  to  the  gardener's 
heart,  and  very  much  work  to  his  hand.  But  that  is  just  as  true 
of  many  who  claim  them  as  a  birthright.  And  how  about  the  odd 
third  that  would  pay  so  well  for  transplanting?  Peggy  used  to 
turn  this  over  and  over  in  her  mind  as  she  watched  her  little 
protegee  careering  bare-legged  over  the  sands  at  Shellacombe,  or 
in  her  first  glorious  experiences  of  being  bowled  over  by  the  sunlit 
ripple  of  the  little  breakers.  Think  of  the  contrast !  Think  of  the 
sordid  and  haggard  life  of  the  class  she  came  from — even  of  the 
best  of  it.  Think  of  that  area,  and  the  cats  thereof !  Think,  if  you 
dare,  of  the  still  lower  depths  of  stuffiness  and  foulness — so  ran  on 
Peggy's  thoughts  to  herseK — of  the  air  of  the  rooms  whole  families 
sleep  in ;  of  the  dreadful  world  in  which  the  threshold  of  the  gaslit 
filth-house  is  the  stepping-stone  to  the  only  gleam  of  Heaven  it 
can  ever  know  on  this  side  of  the  grave !  And  yet  (even  as  Peggy 
quoted  Browning  to  herself)  God  has  not  said  one  word!  And 
all  the  others  are  there — are  there — are  there  still !  All  the  others, 
80  many  of  whom  might  have  been  Alice,  and  were  not!  Peggy 
felt  half-mad  with  the  horror  of  it  all,  there  on  the  Shellacombe 
beach,  with  the  blue  sea  at  her  feet,  and  out  above  it  an  incredible 
colossus  of  climbing  cloud ;  an  infinity  of  piled  white  vapours  bent 
on  touching  the  zenith,  and  seeming  like  to  succeed.  She  felt  it 
almost  a  pain  to  hear,  across  the  sands,  the  voices  of  the  children  in 
the  water,  and  Alice's  among  them,  plain  enough — yes! — that  was 
her  voice,  no  doubt  of  it !  And  there  were  the  cries  of  the  gulls,  as 
musical  as  when  we  were  here  last  year — and  they  have  gone  on 
ever  since,  all  the  while  we  were  in  our  hapless,  fog-bound  centre 
of  civilisation;  and  Alice  was  where  we  shudder  to  think  of  her 
now,  in  that  appalling  underground  darkness  with  her  mother 
snoring  in  a  drunken  sleep,  and  the  bones  of  the  murdered  woman 
waiting  to  be  an  interesting  discovery.  But  the  other  children — 
the  other  children — they  are  all  there  still!  And  Peggy  quoted 
her  Browning  again,  and  added  blasphemously  that  perhaps  it  was 
because  He  was  ashamed  of  His  handiwork.  Don't  be  angry  with 
her,  j^'-s.  or  Mr.  Grundy !  She  is  only  grappling,  with  rough  can- 
dour, with  the  terrible  problem  that  has  perplexed  and  oppressed 
us  all,  except  you. 

What  would  not  Peggy  do,  if  she  was  a  millionaire.  She  would 
soon  have  them  all  out — all  the  children — into  the  sunlight.  She 
would  pitch  them,  by  swarms,  into  the  glorious  water.  She  would 
dress  them  in  all  sorts  of  nice  little  costumes  such  as  Alice  had — 
none  of  your  workhouse  grey!  She  would  feed  them,  and  teach 
them  (only  she  wouldn't  have  them  taught  any  falsehoods),  and 


142  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

turn  them  into  sober,  useful,  honest  members  of  the  common- 
wealth. And  as  for  their  parents,  they  wouldn't  make  any  diffi- 
culties— they  would  let  her  do  as  she  liked.  Of  course  they  would, 
Peggy  dear,  with  your  beautiful  hair,  and  your  beautiful  eyes,  and 
the  nearest  approach  to  a  wrinkle  that  thought  about  a  very  devil 
of  a  world  can  make  in  your  beautiful  brow — of  course  they  would 
let  you  have  them.  No  difficulty  about  it!  In  fact,  they  will 
make  none,  neither,  about  getting  you  plenty  more  where  those 
came  from,  if  you  want  them — or  if  you  don't ! 

Poor  Peggy!  She  was  imaging  such  a  sweet  Garden  of  Eden, 
all  full  of  himdreds  of  happy  little  people  like  those  over  there 
(really  it's  time  for  that  child  to  come  out!),  and  the  last  turn 
of  her  dream  struck  a  discord — it  was  just  as  though  the  Serpent 
had  rung  at  the  bell,  and  sent  in  word  that  if  he  wasn't  admitted 
at  the  front  gate  he  could  find  no  end  of  ways  of  slipping  in.  And 
why  (ran  the  current  of  Peggy's  thoughts) — ^why  do  we  blame  him, 
when  his  chiefest  function,  his  most  effectual  modus  operandi,  is 
to  instigate  a  blind  obedience  to  the  very  first  instruction  God  gave 
to  Man,  when  He  placed  him  in  the  garden?  Has  he  not  a  claim 
to  an  almost  official  position,  with  a  right  to  millions  of  promotion 
money,  for  his  exertions  (in  conjunction  with  two  other  members 
of  a  great  Syndicate)  towards  the  increase  and  multiplication  of 
man  and  the  replenishment  of  the  Earth?  He  may  be  the  Father 
of  Lies,  but  is  he  not  also  the  Father  of  London  and  Liverpool  ?  Is 
he  not  perhaps  a  faithful  serpent,  a  well-intentioned  Agency,  who 
has  a  little  exceeded  his  instructions,  which  ought  to  have  been 
clearer,  and  contained  clauses  dealing  with  congested  districts, 
cubic  feet  per  adult,  accessibility  of  markets,  and  so  forth  ?  Or  are 
we  to  suppose  that  the  primordial  instincts  of  Nature  are  due  to  an 
oversight  of  the  Almighty? — that  if  he  had  only  thought  a  little 
longer,  and  not  been  in  such  a  hurry,  he  would  have  turned  out  a 
very  different  Creation;  and  poor  Mrs.  Kavanagh,  Alice's  mother, 
never  would  have  gone  to  the  Devil,  and  her  husband  wouldn't  have 
hammered  her  scalp  off,  nor  provided  himself  with  an  emergency 
bottle  of  Cyanide? 

Feggy  wasn't  a  Freethinker,  not  she  I  But  she  was  rather  a  free 
Thinker;  and  we  perceive,  dear  Mrs.  Grundy,  that  you  are  right, 
and  that  such  Doctrines  are  Dangerous,  and  that  Peggy  was  in 
need  of  Guidance.  Perhaps  we  all  are,  when  we  move  in  the  dark. 
Better  to  sit  still,  and  shun  speculation,  whether  the  Scripture 
moveth  us  to  it  in  sundry  places  or  not.  But  she  wasn't  that  sort ; 
she  must  needs  be  a-thinking.  And  she  sat  there  on  the  sands 
(letting  Alice,  I  am  sure,  stop  in  a  great  deal  too  long)  wonder- 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  143 

ing  at  the  great  cloud-mountain  that  slept  or  soared,  or  both, 
above  its  image  in  the  sea.  How  little  it  cared  for  the  smoke 
trail  of  an  ocean  tramp,  Bristol-bound,  that  could  do  no  more 
than  just  defile  the  horizon  a  little  at  its  base,  out  eastwards.  Up 
it  climbed — up,  up! — for  ever,  into  the  unfathomable  blue — you 
only  needed  to  watch  it  for  a  space  to  imagine  its  endless  leagues 
of  mountain  and  valley,  of  precipice  and  plain;  to  discover  its 
caverns  that  you  did  not  see  at  first;  and  then  to  populate  them 
all,  plain,  precipice,  and  cavern,  with  countless  myriads  of  winged 
things,  each  one  a  little  joy-spot  to  itself,  and  all  the  legions  of 
them  rising  still  higher  and  higher  to  the  high  heaven,  and  rejoic- 
ing in  the  sun. 

"Yes,  that's  all  very  fine,"  said  Peggy  in  answer  to  her  own 
thought.  "Of  course  if  one  could  be  a  little  Blakey  sort  of  spirit, 
swimming  in  the  blue !  But  one  isn't.  And  suppose  one  is  Sally  in 
our  alley,  and  our  alley  is  a  stench-hole,  with  no  more  joy  in  it 
than  can  be  got  from  an  ill-intentioned  Public-House  and  a  well- 
intentioned  Parson !    What  do  you  make  of  that  ?" 

Nothing.  Neither  you  nor  I  nor  any  one  else  can  make  anything 
of  it.  It  remains  the  unanswered  and  unanswerable  conundrum  of 
the  inscrutable  Sphinx,  Nature. 

Peggy  was  obliged  to  leave  the  Origin  of  Evil,  and  the  Omnipo- 
tent Omnibenevolence  of  its  Creator,  no  clearer  than  she  found  it, 
in  order  to  get  Alice  out  of  the  water.  How  to  do  this  was  nearly 
as  difficult  a  problem,  for  Alice  had  the  coign  of  vantage,  and 
knew  quite  well  that  neither  Miss  Peggy  nor  Mrs.  Parkridge  could 
conveniently  come  into  the  water  to  fetch  her  out.  Her  position 
was  not  one  of  resistance,  but  of  postponement  and  supplication. 
Its  power  lay  in  an  infinitely  large  number  of  infinitely  small 
breaches  of  faith.  To  refuse  flatly  to  come  out  of  the  water  is  one 
thing ;  to  promise  to  come  out  in  a  minute — only  one  minute  more ! 
— and  always  get  the  promissory  note  renewed  at  its  expiration,  is 
another. 

In  the  end  Alice  was  fetched  out ;  and,  being  absolutely  cold  like 
a  fish,  and  having  pale  blue  finger-tips  and  chattering  teeth,  she  had 
to  run  about  ever  so  long  in  the  sun  to  get  warm.  .  .  .  Still  more 
food  for  reflection!  Just  to  think  of  what  and  where  that  child 
would  have  been — but  for  the  merest  chancel  The  harder  Peggy 
found  it  to  grasp  the  difference,  the  more  hideous  was  the  thought — 
the  other  children  are  there  still! 

Though  Peggy  had  never  been  wanting  in  readiness  to  join  in 
charitable  work,  or  in  sorrow  for  misfortune  and  poverty,  she  had 
never  suffered  from  the  nightmare  of  our  great  and  prosperous 


144  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

civilisation  until  the  horror  of  the  lives  of  tens  of  thousands  was 
brought  home  to  her  by  this  chance  emancipation  of  one.  She  got 
no  forwarder  towards  a  conclusion,  even  by  the  time  all  the  sand 
was  got  off  Alice's  feet ;  which  was  a  long  time,  but  not  Mrs.  Park- 
ridge's  estimate  of  six  weeks.  She  only  went  back  to  her  old  con- 
clusion, that  Population  was  the  root  of  all  evil,  and  that  the 
world  might  be  a  good  and  happy  world  if  only  the  propensities  of 
the  Patriarchs  could  be  kept  under.  "Make  yourselves  scarce!" 
would  have  been  her  advice  to  the  Human  Race — "Make  yourselves 
scarce,  and  we'U  do  the  rest!" — we  being  Representative  Govern- 
ment, or  Education,  or  the  Churches,  or  Endowed  Charities,  or 
Society,  or  Co-operative  Effort — one  or  other  of  them!  Anyhow 
some  agency  which  knows  how  to!  Meanwhile  it  was  clear  that 
Marriage,  under  whatever  form  it  presented  itself,  was  the  Old 
Serpent's  trump-card — and  oh  what  a  faculty  he  has  for  putting  a 
miserable  two  or  three  on  the  top  of  our  best  Kings  and  Aces  and 
taking  the  trick  I  However,  it  was  in  Peggy's  power  to  set  a  good 
example  and  she  was  going  to  do  it. 

But  the  Serpent  is  the  subtlest  eft  of  all  the  field — at  least  so 
says  Wiclif's  version — and  even  at  this  very  moment  he  was  schem- 
ing the  frustration  of  a  million  resolutions  just  as  determined  as 
Peggy's.  He  doesn't  go  to  work  in  identically  the  same  way  with 
all  people.  If  he  did  he  wouldn't  be  a  subtle  eft  at  all.  On  the 
contrary  he  has  a  different  bait  for  every  fish.  He  throws  his 
hook  to  the  shark  and  dog-fish  with  a  huge  coarse  piece  of  flesh  on 
it,  tainted  as  often  as  not.  And  they  bolt  it  at  once  and  are 
captured,  and  are  usually  landed  and  carried  away  by  him.  Some- 
times they  run  away  with  the  bait,  and  the  angler  is  disappointed. 
But  when  the  fish  is  a  shy  fish,  and  will  only  jump  at  the  most 
delicately  made  fly,  with  the  most  beautiful  colours,  then  the 
world's  great  mischief-maker  has  plenty  in  stock  and  knows  how 
to  use  them.  In  the  case  before  us  his  immediate  motive  is  only 
to  ruin  a  castle  in  the  air  of  an  enthusiastic  young  lady.  He  is 
much  too  clever  to  try  to  shake  her  resolves,  by  offering  her 
any  of  the  baits  supplied  by  the  other  two  members  of  his  Syn- 
dicate of  three.  But  he  will  look  in  his  wallet  and  find  some- 
thing. 

Peggy  sent  Alice  and  Mrs.  Partridge  home,  and  set  out  to  meet 
her  mother  and  sister  and  Miss  Petherington,  who  had  gone  for  a 
walk  along  the  sands.  Then  it  proved  so  tremendously  hot  walk- 
ing, that  she  gave  it  up,  and  turned  to  go  slowly  home,  pursuing 
her  meditations. 

"If  only  one  could  get  any  one  to  talk  to  about  one's  ideas, 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  145 

Bow  nice  it  would  be!  I'm  sure  it  ought  to  be  possible  to  do 
something — if  it  was  ever  so  little.  But  people  are  such  fools  and 
so  unpractical.    Papa,  for  instance! 

"Only  Papa  isn't  quite  a  fool,  because  look  what  he  said  once 
when  I  did  get  him  to  be  serious  for  a  minute — about  not  being 
able  to  reform  the  World  until  we'd  reformed  the  Flesh  and  the 
Devil."  No  doubt  this  did  Mr.  Heath  credit,  though  we  fancy 
the  remark  had  been  made  before.  But  let  Peggy  go  on  with  her 
reflections. 

"It  it  so  annoying,  when  you  think  what  swarms  of  friends  and 
acquaintances  you've  got,  that  you  can't  find  one  you  can  speak  to 
about  a  thing  you  are  always  thinking  of.  I  really  do  think,  of 
all  the  lot,  there  isn't  a  living  soul  I  can  exchange  an  idea  with. 
Except  Rupert  Johnson,  and  he's  quite  out  of  the  question.  It's 
dangerous  to  mention  anything  to  him  now." 

The  sun  had  gone  for  a  moment  behind  a  solid  cloud,  and  Peggy 
was  standing  in  a  purple  island — only  it  didn't  seem  purple  where 
she  was.  She  half-closed  her  sunshade,  and  stood  scratching  the 
sand  with  its  point,  making  letters.  We  really  don't  think  it 
was  anything  but  the  merest  accident  that  one  of  these  letters  was 
an  R.  Indeed  there  was  nothing  to  distinguish  it  from  the  others 
she  traced  except  that  she  rubbed  it  out  with  her  foot.  If  it  stood 
for  Rupert  (which  I  see  is  the  surmise  in  your  mind),  it  did  not 
do  so  long,  for  she  had  rubbed  it  out  almost  as  soon  as  she  had 
written  it. 

"Yes — that's  what  I  shall  do — the  very  next  opportunity.     Of 

course  it  will  never  do  to  have  this  sort  of  thing  going  on — oh ! " 

This  interjection,  which  we  cannot  write  in  the  text  so  as  to  do 
it  justice,  was  due  to  the  first  perception  of  a  young  man  approach- 
ing, with  intent.  A  handsome  sort  of  fellow  certainly,  in  a  very 
sea-side  costume.  He  might  be  a  yachtsman.  We  did  not  catch 
what  he  said  to  Peggy,  but  can  record  her  answer. 

"Well — how  can  you  expect  any  one  to  know  you  in  those  flan- 
nelly  things?  You  don't  look  the  least  like  a  doctor!  When  did 
you  come? " 


"Late  last  night.    Went  to  see  a  friend  at  Barnstaple " 

"You  knew  we  were  here  ?" 

"Of  course  I  did.  That's  why  I  went  to  see  my  friend  at  Barn- 
staple  " 

"Good,  truthful,  honest  young  man!  But  I  never  told  you  you 
might  come " 

"Shall  I  go  away  again  ?" 

"To  your  friend  at  Barnstaple  ?    He  can  wait." 


146  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

"It's  not  a  he — it's  a  she!  No — you  needn't  look  so — it's  not 
that  sort  of  she.    She's  ninety-seven  next  month " 

"Well  now,  Master  Rupert!  What  a  shame?  You  really  made 
me  think  it  was  Something.  I  should  have  been  so  glad."  We 
can't  stop  in  the  middle  of  a  conversation  to  analyse  a  feeling  of 
such  a  subtle  character  as  Peggy's  alleged  exultation,  present  or 
future,  at  Dr.  Johnson  having  set  himself  up  with  a  new  She,  and 
given  up  his  nonsense.  "I  really  should  have  been  glad  of  that!" 
she  repeated.  She  rubbed  it  well  in,  so  that  there  should  be  no  mis- 
take.   "But  do  tell  me  about  the  old  lady  of  ninety-seven " 

"She's  a  wonderful  old  lady — was  about  seventy  when  she  first 
made  my  acquaintance,  and  has  known  me  all  my  life.  She  has 
a  twin  sister  who  is  even  more  active  than  herself.  One  of  them 
must  live  to  be  a  hundred.    She's  had  four  husbands " 

"Bless  us  and  save  us!  And  how  many  descendants?  .  .  . 
Fancy! — four  families,  each  with  a  name  to  itself!  Tell  me  the 
names  of  all  the  old  lady's  husbands." 

"I  never  recollect  them  twice  alike,"  said  Dr.  Johnson.  "But 
I  think  they  were  Spackman,  Gale,  Lecheminant,  and  Barrett. 
She's  Mrs.  Barrett  now,  and  lives  in  a  cottage  at  Barnstaple.  She 
was  my  nurse  when  I  was  a  baby.  She  is  so  well  known  to  me  as 
Anne,  that  I  have  in  practice  a  kind  of  disbelief  in  her  ever  hav- 
ing been  Mrs.  Spackman  or  Lecheminant.  I  make  a  concession  to 
Barrett,  but  grudgingly.  Haven't  you  ever  felt  the  same  about 
some  nurse  with  a  Christian  name?" 

"No — I  never  had  a  chance!  Because  Partridge  is  my  only 
experience.  It  seems  to  me  that  she  is  Partridge,  in  the  nature  of 
things,  and  nothing  could  ever  have  altered  it.  I'm  not  quite  cer- 
tain what  her  Christian  name  is.    Here  we  are  at  the  house.    Of 

course  you'll  come  in  and  have  lunch? "    Of  course,  but  with 

slight  shams  of  reserve.     "That  hat  looks  as  if  they  were  come 

back "     They  had,  and  lunch  was  waiting,  and  Ellen  rushed 

downstairs  like  the  Palls  of  Niagara.  Her  mother  followed  in  a 
more  self-contained  way  like  the  water  in  a  turbine-tube,  and 
coupled  an  expression  of  well-controlled  pleasure  at  seeing  Dr. 
Johnson  with  an  enquiry  how  long  he  was  going  to  stay. 

Mrs.  Heath  didn't  like  "the  way  things  were  going"  with  her 
daughter  and  the  Doctor ;  but,  being  wise  enough  to  know  that  any 
interference  on  her  part  would  defeat  its  own  object,  she  raised  no 
objection  to  Dr.  Johnson  taking  up  his  quarters  at  Shellacombe 
Hotel,  with  freedom  of  the  foreshores  of  Shellacombe.  Nothing' 
was  said  about  restrictions  on  visiting  at  Sea  View,  which  was 
the  residence  taken  bodily  by  the  Heath  family;  who  had  come  with 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  147 

a  cook,  and  more  servants  than  could  find  employment,  to  stay 
till  the  end  of  the  season,  a  period  fixed  at  discretion.  Sheila- 
combe  consisted  of  this  house  and  the  Hotel,  one  or  two  more 
houses,  the  butcher's,  and  the  Post  Office.  It  was  only  by  con- 
summate strategy  that  any  one  coming  out  of  doors  could  avoid 
any  one  coming  out  of  any  other  doors;  so  reservations  made  with 
a  view  of  limiting  Dr.  Johnson,  or  any  other  Hotel  resident,  would 
only  have  betrayed  weakness  of  jurisdiction,  and  Mrs.  Heath  felt 
that  submission  was  the  better  part  of  valour,  and  submitted.  Per- 
haps the  Doctor  would  really  believe  Peggy's  resolutions  were 
valid,  and  would  sheer  ofF.  So  she  kept  sincerely  neutral,  prompted 
by  her  own  version  of  her  daughter's  best  interests. 

Now  Master  Rupert  (as  Peggy  had  thought  fit  to  christen  him) 
had  never  made  a  formal  suit  to  the  object  of  his  adoration — that 
he  would  never  have  done  without  consulting  her  family!  She 
had  informed  him  that  nothing  would  induce  her  to  marry  even  the 
man  she  liked  best  in  the  world,  and  as  she  really  didn't  at  present 
know  any  one  she  liked  better  (as  a  friend  of  course)  she  was 
very  anxious  he  should  dismiss  nonsensical  ideas  from  his  mind 
and  be  reasonable  and  sensible.  He  had  assured  her  that  in  his 
wildest  dreams  he  never  should  have  presumed  to  think  of  offer- 
ing her  his  worthless  self,  but  that  it  was  quite  inevitable  in  the 
Nature  of  Things  that  she  should  never  be  absent  from  his 
thoughts,  sleeping  or  waking.  Surely  it  was  his  own  look  out  if 
he  lost  his  reason  and  went  into  a  madhouse  through  indulging 
this  prepossession.  She  had  given  him  plain  warning  what  he  had 
to  expect  from  her.  Very  good!  It  was  all  fair  on  both  sides, 
hien  entendu.  And  we  could  walk  over  to  Surge  Point,  and  take 
Alice  with  us  this  afternoon.  Oh  yes! — Alice  could  go  quite  as 
far  as  that — if  she  did  knock  up.  Dr.  Johnson  would  have  to 
carry  her. 


CHAPTER  XrV 

OP  BOHEMU,  AND  HOW  THE  MISS  PRYNNES  APPEARED  THERE.  OP  THE 
FINE  ARTS  AND  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  OF  TERPSICHORE,  AND  A 
GHOST  THAT  MR.  HEATH  SAW 

Charles  had  a  subcutaneous  consciousness  that  he  was  not  doing 
full  justice  to  the  Fine  Arts;  and  when  he  resolved  to  remain  in 
town  for  the  present  and  get  a  little  change  of  air  "later  on,"  he 
felt  that  he  was  really  working  hard — striving  ever  upwards,  and 
that  Life  was  real.  Life  was  earnest.  Besides,  when  everybody  was 
gone  away  it  was  so  jolly  in  London.  There  was  next  to  no  smoke, 
and  you  felt  you  could  turn  round.  The  openings  given  to  the 
Bohemian  for  asserting  his  nationality  in  the  season  were  as 
moonlight  unto  sunlight,  were  as  water  unto  wine,  compared  to 
his  possibilities  in  this  dull  and  flat  recess.  He  could  dress  as  he 
pleased,  and  even  go  without  a  waistcoat.  He  could  sit  up  all  night 
if  he  liked,  and  lie  in  bed  till  goodness  knew  when!  And  then, 
when  goodness  knew,  he  really  didn't  see  why  a  dressing-gown  and 
slippers  wouldn't  do ;  and,  accordingly,  they  did.  We  really  believe 
that  a  multiplication  of  items  of  this  sort  would  give  a  true  view 
of  Bohemianism  as  practised  by  Charles.  There  are,  we  believe, 
other  national  characteristics;  but,  so  far  as  we  have  been  able  to 
learn,  they  lack  local  colour  and  individuality — and  do  not  seem 
to  differ  materially  from  those  of  the  great  nation  of  reprobates  all 
the  world  over.  Charles  was  not  of  this  class.  His  easy 
good-nature  and  readiness  with  cash  made  him  popular  in 
Bohemian  circles,  especially  with  models ;  so  much  so  that  he  never 
sat  down  to  work  without  a  knock  coming  at  the  door,  which  when 
partly  opened  let  in  the  thin  end  of  a  Model.  Of  course  this 
happened  exactly  as  he  made  his  good  resolution  to  stick  to  work — 
and  the  thick  end  showed  no  disposition  to  go  unless  he  promised 
it  sittings.  But  as  Charles  didn't  want  it  then  and  there  (and  it 
was  rather  indignant  when  not  wanted),  he  had  to  stand  holding 
the  door  partly  open  while  he  conversed  about  its  family  con- 
nection with  it,  for  a  long  time  before  it  would  depart.  He  was 
disturbed  again  in  another  five  minutes  by  an  indigent  meek 
middle-aged  man  with  mutton-chop  whiskers,  who  had  no  means  of 

148 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  149 

livelihood  except  as  an  artist's  model ;  and  for  whose  death  by  star- 
vation, as  he  was  too  proud  to  come  on  the  Parish,  Charles  was 
clearly  responsible  if  he  did  not  forthwith  paint  him  at  seven 
shillings  a  day  and  his  lunch.  Of  course  he  got  half-a-crown  from 
Charles  as  a  gratuity,  and  went  away  thinking  how  soon  he  could 
come  again.  Visitors  of  this  sort  were  trying  enough  at  all  times, 
but  when  all  the  other  artists  were  out  of  town  they  were  at  their 
worst. 

Mr.  Jeff  was,  though  scarcely  a  reprobate,  probably  a  much  truer 
Bohemian  than  Charles.  The  first  instance  utilised  above,  when  it 
went  upstairs  to  call  on  the  artist  in  the  attics  might  have  been 
heard  for  a  very  long  time  afterwards  having  a  pleasant  but  noisy 
interview  with  him  and  a  couple  of  fellow-artists.  Mr.  Jeff  was 
at  work — was  in  fact  putting  in  an  'ead  from  one  of  his  friends. 
How  the  work  throve  we  cannot  say;  the  impression  outside  the 
door  was  one  of  Chaos,  accompanied  by  imitations  of  popular 
actors.  The  reason  we  come  to  know  anything  about  it  is  that  Miss 
Prynne  and  her  sister,  the  two  lady  water-colour  artists  who  had 
taken  the  second  floor,  told  Charles  about  it. 

"It  sounded  as  if  they  were  racing  round  and  round  the  room, 
and  shouting  and  shrieking  all  the  time."  This  was  the  account 
given,  and  Charles  felt  he  could  identify  it. 

"Old  maids  call  anythin'  a  noise.  You  can't  move."  Thus  Mr. 
Jerrythought  in  extenuation  afterwards  to  Charles.  "It  was  only 
Joe  Scratchly  and  old  Gorman.  Teachin'  him  a  new  dance,  she 
was — no  'arm  in  that,  Charley?" 

"Not  a  bit !  Perhaps  it  was  only  the  Misses  Prynne  were  jealous. 
No  doubt  you  were  as  quiet  as  mice." 

"None  of  your  chaff,  Charley !"  And  then  a  spirit  of  concession 
showed  itself : — "P'r'aps  she  was  rather  obstropulous !  'Igh-spirited 
gurl  in  her  teens !" 

"She  hasn't  been  in  her  teens  this  five  years  past.  She's  four 
and  twenty  at  least!" 

"She's  younger  than  the  Misses  Prynnes,  anyhow!"  and  Mr. 
Jerrythought  considers  he  has  made  a  point. 

"So  are  a  good  many  people,  my  dear  Jeff !  But  there's  a  tertium 
quid — a  good  many  tertium  quids!" 

Mr.  Jeff  seems  vague  about  the  meaning  of  this  phrase,  and  not 
quite  clear  that  it  is  not  an  imputation  on  character;  for  he  says 
ambiguously  that  Miss  Lucretia  lives  with  her  mother,  and  if  that 
isn't  enough,  what  is?  Charles  explains  the  expression,  and  Jeff 
says  oh,  he  sees !  But  he  is  a  poor  Latinist,  and  does  not  feel  the 
ground  firm  under  his  feet. 


150  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

What  Mr.  Jeff  did  feel  clear  about  was  that  it  was  rather  sickenin' 
to  have  those  two  old  drumsticks  (the  Miss  Prynnes)  come  in  and 
spoil  the  place.  Just  as  we  were  all  so  jolly!  He  should  go  next 
quarter.  Tumin'  the  whole  place  into  a  Dissentin'  Chapel! 
Quakers'  Meetin'-house,  he  called  it.  Where  was  the  use  of 
payin'  such  a  high  rent  when  you  couldn't  call  your  soul  your 
own? 

"The  Misses  Prynnes  won't  do  you  any  harm,  Jeff,"  said  his 
friend,  "if  you  leave  them  alone.  Don't  you  make  love  to  them 
and  they  won't  make  love  to  you." 

"Won't  they?  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  One  of  them — ^the  least 
skinny  of  the  two — ^was  tryin'  it  on  yesterday.  Did  I  know  if  there 
was  a  trap-door  anywhere  to  get  on  the  leads  ?  Wanted  to  make  a 
study  of  chimney-pots  in  water-colour." 

"How  did  you  come  to  be  talking  to  her  ?" 

"I  didn't — she  talked  to  me.  I  heard  a  sound  like  a  single 
middle-aged  female's  'oofs  in  that  queer  little  crib  that's  neither  a 
room  nor  a  landing — right  up  at  the  top  of  that  last  little  stair- 
case.   And  I  caught  her  there " 

"Flagrante  delicto,"  said  Charles.  And  this  time  Jeff  agreed, 
without  hesitation.  It  sounded  bad,  and  felt  like  a  safe  invest- 
ment. 

"That's  what  I  thought,  myself,"  said  he,  "only  I  couldn't  say 
so  to  her.  I  asked  her  if  I  could  do  anythin'  of  a  civil  sort.  She 
wanted  to  know  if  the  place  was  staircase  or  premises ;  and  suppos- 
ing premises,  which  did  it  go  with?  Of  course  I  said  it  was  part 
of  my  diggings,  but  I  shouldn't  be  using  it  till  to-morrow " 

"But  it  doesn't  belong  to  your  Studio  at  all." 

"I  know  that — but  premises  are  not  like  property.  You  get 
in,  and  other  people  have  to  pick  you  out  like  a  winkle.  I've  chris- 
tened the  place  mine  now,  and  'ung  up  a  pair  of  old  check  trousers 
on  a  'ook  to  'orrify  the  Misses  Prynnes.  Well!  if  I  don't  they'll 
be  swarmin'  upstairs  with  bandboxes " 

"I  don't  believe  it.    But  how  did  you  settle  about  the  roof  ? " 

"Told  her  there  was  a  trap-door  through,  out  of  my  bedroom; 
but  it  had  been  tried  to  be  opened,  and  wouldn't.  Besides,  I  was 
always  in  bed.    Said  I  read  in  bed  a  good  deal " 

"You  never  read,  Jeff!  What  a  story-teller  you  are!  I  say, 
I  had  breakfast  very  early.  I  vote  we  go  and  lunch  at  Cremoncini's. 
It'll  be  one  o'clock  before  we  get  it."  From  which  it  is  clear  that 
this  chat  took  place  in  working  hours;  and,  whichever  Studio  it 
was  in,  the  occupant  of  the  other  had  no  business  to  be  idling  and 
talking  there. 


ALICE-FOR-SHOKT  151 

So  completely  is  the  image  of  what  constitutes  "an  Artist" 
fixed  in  the  mind  of  Everyman  that  as  soon  as  he  knows  that  the 
stock  qualifications  of  the  profession  are  complied  with,  he  makes 
little  enquiry  about  what  the  outcome  of  it  all  is.  That  is  the  affair 
of  Critics,  Purchasers,  and  Dealers.  All  that  he,  Everyman,  has  to 
do  is  to  get  an  affirmative  answer  to  one  or  more  of  the  following 
questions,  and  then  he  will  know  that  this  man  is  an  Artist — ^to 
wit :  Has  this  man  a  Studio  ?  Has  he  one  or  more  easels  ?  Does  he 
buy  large  quantities  of  colours,  and  get  professional  discount  ? 
Does  he  employ  real  live  Models?  Does  he  send  to  the  Academy? 
If  he  does  no  one  of  these  things,  he  evidently  isn't  an  Artist — if 
he  does  them  all  or  any  fair  proportion  of  them,  he  evidently  is. 
Everyman  is  satisfied,  and  no  man  looks  at  the  results  or  cares 
twopence  about  them.  Maybe  this  was  truer  in  the  sixties  than  it 
is  now,  when  very  few  people  are  not  Artists,  and  speculative  build- 
ers are  running  up  barracks  of  Studios  in  every  suburb;  when 
Artists'  Colourmen  are  as  numerous  as  milk -shops,  and  every  post 
brings  a  new  little  book  of  canvas  samples;  when  most  of  the 
Times  newspaper  is  taken  up  with  One  Man  Exhibitions,  which 
Everyman  is  expected  to  go  to,  and  we  never  go  to  unless  we  have 
a  free  pass.  In  the  sixties  it  was  not  at  all  uncommon  to  hear  of 
a  picture  sale;  in  the  case  of  big  swells  coronetted  supplicants 
were  humbly  competing  with  Calicottonopolis  for  the  privilege  of 
possessing  their  great  works  as  soon  as  they  should  deign  to  finish 
them.  It  is  all  changed  now,  as  far  as  the  buyers  go,  and  Every- 
man is  really  weary  of  Exhibitions.  We,  ourselves,  feel  we  might 
pay  a  shilling  of  gate-money  if  only  all  the  Pictures  in  an  Exhi- 
bition were  hung  with  their  faces  to  the  wall.  Not  seeing  so  many 
pictures  all  at  once  would  give  a  sense  of  rest,  and  allow  us  to 
recruit  and  become  able  to  rejoice  in  Treatment  and  Quality  and 
Due  Subordination  as  of  old,  and  to  recognise  Values  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing  instead  of  thinking  it  must  be  getting  on  for  Tea-time. 

But  we  have  digressed,  and  we  really  have  forgotten  why.  It  has 
nothing  to  do  with  what  we  wanted  to  say,  which  was  that  the 
outcome  of  Charles  did  not  seem  proportionate  to  his  expenditure, 
effort,  or  material.  He  was  an  Artist — no  doubt  of  that — for  did  he 
not  comply  with  all  the  requisitions  ? — no,  not  quite  all !  He  had 
never  sent  anything  to  the  Royal  Academy,  his  connection  there- 
with being  only  through  his  studentship,  which  he  reverted  to  in  a 
purposeless  way  at  intervals,  sometimes  not  going  there  for  months 
together.  But  on  all  other  points  his  claim  to  being  an  Artist  was 
indisputable.  Scarcely  a  week  passed  without  a  very  elaborate 
and  expensive  new  canvas  coming  to  No.  40,  and  being  subjected 


162  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

to  a  most  searching  examination  of  its  merits.  If  there  was  a  flaw 
on  its  surface,  it  clearly  wasn't  fit  to  paint  on.  Of  if  it  was  too 
smooth.  Or  too  rough.  Or  too  absorbent.  Or  too  non-absorbent. 
Or  one-sixteenth  of  an  inch  out  of  true.  Or  many  other  things.  It 
always  had  to  have  a  second  expensive  canvas  at  its  back  "to  keep 
out  the  wet,"  and  great  circumspection  was  necessary  in  knocking 
in  the  wedges  to  tighten  it  up,  lest  one  of  them  should  be  the  least 
tighter  than  the  other.  But  after  paroxysms  of  System,  eruptions 
of  Method,  epidemics  of  Organisation,  the  Artist  would  "rough  in" 
a  first  idea  with  a  nonchalance  due  to  the  sudden  substitution  of 
inspiration  for  mere  artisanship,  to  which  all  these  precautions 
more  properly  belonged.  Putting  it  in  broadly,  as  you  felt  it, 
was  your  first  Artistic  impulse.  Getting  it  into  a  horrible  mess, 
destroying  the  quality  of  the  ground,  and  losing  all  the  outline, 
was  the  second.  Wiping  a  great  deal  of  it  out  with  Benzoline  was 
the  third,  and  consoling  yourself  with  the  reflection  that  it  would 
be  all  right  when  you  came  to  moddle  it  up  was  the  fourth.  After 
that  you  smoked  and  looked  at  it  wistfully  a  good  deal,  and  said 
what  a  pity  it  was  you  hadn't  let  it  alone.  And  then  you  (or 
Charles,  as  may  be)  would  order  another  canvas. 

Mr.  Jeff  was  of  another  sort — ^but  still  an  Artist.  To  him,  a  can- 
vas was  a  canvas,  and  what  more  could  you  want  ?  It  was  a  thing 
that  ho  flew  at  for  an  hour  or  so,  with  masterly  touches;  at  the 
end  of  which  period  he  wrote  "Jerrythought"  very  large  across 
one  comer  of  it.  Then  it  was  a  Jerrythought.  He  had  many 
admirers,  and  owing  to  the  way  he  wrote  his  name  got  the  credit 
of  having  profited  by  a  year  or  so  in  Paris,  and  knowing  the  secret 
of  chic.  He  was  quoted  as  an  authority  by  some  of  his  contempo- 
raries, as  for  instance:  "Jeff  says  it's  no  use  looking  at  the 
Model" — "Jeff  says  it's  no  use  looking  at  your  picture" — "Jeff 
says  retouching's  a  mistake" — and  so  forth.  He  was  true  to  this 
last  dictum,  and  let  his  first  painting  alone  religiously.  He  cer- 
tainly was  encouraged  in  this  by  his  friends,  who,  when  they 
saw  any  of  his  work  showing  any  additions  to  their  first  fine  care- 
less rapture,  would  collapse  with  moans  in  front  of  it.  "My  dear 
boy,  why  did  you  touch  it  again?"  they  would  say  tearfully;  "all 
the  charm  is  gone — all  the  freshness !"  And  Jeff  would  agree  with 
them  most  cordially,  and  say  he  couldn't  think  what  the  dooce  he 
was  about,  to  go  retouchin'!  For  our  own  part  we  have  always 
regarded  him  as  the  forerunner  of  a  great  Modern  School  of  Art, 
and  consider  him  entitled  to  honour  on  that  account.  This  is 
because  we  shrink  from  the  attitude  of  mind  of  the  person  who, 
being  told  that  a  certain  picture  conveyed  the  same  impression  of 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  163 

an  Aspect  of  Nature  as  that  of  the  Artist  at  his  first  moment  of 
perceiving  it,  remarked  that  then  it  was  a  bad  job  he'd  noticed  it ! 
Fortunately  for  Jeff  there  was  even  in  those  early  days  a  public 
that  did  not  belong  to  this  person's  school,  and  it  soon  came  to  con- 
sider itself  incomplete  without  a  Jerrythought,  and  fortunate  to 
possess  an  exceptionally  good  example  of  him. 

Disturbing  reflections  may  have  occurred  to  outsiders  who 
witnessed  the  operations  of  either  of  these  young  artists,  and  may 
have  been  emphasised  by  their  results.  Did  Memling  go  to  work 
in  that  way?  Did  John  of  Bruges?  Did  Titian  and  Velasquez 
spoil  their  first  painting  when  they  did  their  second?  Did  the 
Florentines  of  the  Renaissance  run  up  such  bills  with  their  colour- 
men,  and  have  in  new  panels  as  recklessly  as  Charles  had  in  new 
canvases?  Charles's  justification  in  reply  to  hints  of  this  sort 
was,  substantially,  that  of  course  they  did  things  a  lot  better  in 
those  days;  but  then  they  were  Old  Masters  and  didn't  scruple  to 
take  advantage  of  that  fact.  Strange  mysteries  of  process  were 
known  to  them;  they  ground  their  own  colours — ^prepared  their 
own  canvases — made  their  own  brushes.  Everything  was  different  I 
For  one  thing,  it  was  the  Middle  Ages,  or  at  any  rate  only  a 
minute  or  two  later.  It  was  a  pity  that  we  lived  in  such  a  spell- 
bound Era  as  the  present,  when  of  course  the  Arts  couldn't  be 
expected  to  flourish,  but  we  had  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  job, 
and  be  Artists  up  to  our  natural  capacity.  For,  in  spite  of  the 
chilling  influence  of  the  Present  Tense,  it  would  only  make 
matters  ten  times  worse  for  us  to  be  disheartened  by  the  disquali- 
fications of  our  contemporaneousness,  and  begin  not  being  Artists 
at  all.  It  was  no  use  giving  in,  because  we  couldn't  paint.  Let  us 
be  Artists,  whatever  else  we  were;  and  console  ourselves  for  our 
insufficiency  by  the  reflection  that  an  Age  like  the  present  deserved 
nothing  better, 

Charles's  ideas,  which  we  indicate,  may  have  been  exaggerated 
through  his  not  liking  to  admit  that  he  really  didn't  know  how  to 
paint  by  instinct,  and  had  been  able  to  find  no  one  to  teach  him; 
but  they  were  a  good  deal  in  sympathy  with  the  current  practice  of 
our  own  time,  so  far  as  we  ourselves  have  observed  it.  Have  we 
not  gone  on  creating  shoals  of  artists,  on  the  distinct  understand- 
ing that  compliance  with  canons  is  the  whole  duty  of  man,  in  Art ; 
and  that  the  hypothesis  of  their  existence  now  is  that  they  shall 
be  overwhelmed  by  their  antecedents  ?  But  he  had  to  find  excuses 
for  not  being  able  to  get  along,  and  it  satisfied  him  to  think  that  he 
was  struggling  after  a  vague  ideal,  which  for  some  unexplained 
reason  had  gone  away  out  of  reach  of  the  human  race.    It  was 


154  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

pleasant  to  him  to  reflect  that  though  Smith  and  Brown  painted 
better  than  he,  they  were  all  so  far  behind  Titian  that  it  really 
didn't  matter.  Jeff  was  quite  in  sympathy  with  him  on  the  general 
ground  of  the  indisputable  inferiority  of  new  work  to  old,  with 
this  difference:  that  Charles  made  use  of  the  Italian  Renaissance, 
while  he  himself  appealed  to  the  eighteenth  century  in  England, 
with  excursions  to  Holland  a  little  earlier.  Certain  forms  of  ugli- 
ness seemed  to  have  a  charm  for  him ;  but  if  he  couldn't  get  them, 
he  would  make  a  shift  to  put  up  with  absolute  insipidity  of  an 
authentic  date.  A  Queen-Anne  teaspoon,  without  more  ado — that 
is  to  say,  about  which  nothing  further  could  be  said  than  that  it 
was  a  Queen-Anne  teaspoon — would  warm  his  blood,  and  cause 
him  to  rejoice  by  its  divine  simplicity  and  entire  Tightness.  As 
his  work  began  to  be  appreciated  and  paid  for,  he  squandered  a 
good  deal  of  the  proceeds  in  curio-shops  in  Wardour  Street,  and 
would  often  get  Charles  to  come  upstairs,  and  not  lose  a  minute,  to 
see  some  piece  of  furniture  by  Chippendale  or  Sheraton,  whose 
qualities  Charles  had  to  accept  on  the  assurance  of  its  possessor. 

"The  man  that  made  that  was  an  Artist,  Mr.  Charles  'Eath,  what- 
ever you  may  say!"  This  was  about  a  chair  the  enthusiast  was 
gloating  over.  "Look  at  the  design !  Look  at  the  finish !  There's 
a  corner!    Ever  see  anythin'  finer  than  that  comer?" 

"It's  only  a  corner  like  any  other  corner.  It's  a  decent  service- 
able chair  though.  What  did  you  give  for  it  ?  Seven  bob  ?" — Jeff 
disdained  to  reply,  and  Charles  went  on:  "It's  a  mere  chair,  with 
nothing  to  be  said  about  it.  It  isn't  large,  and  it  isn't  small,  and 
it  has  a  back,  and  it's  stuffed  with  horsehair.  Can't  see  where  the 
Art  comes  in!" 

"It  ain't  in  your  line,  my  boy!  It's  not  mediaeval."  This  was 
spoken  with  compassion.  "Pretty  thing  that  coloured  mezzotint — 
picked  it  up  to-day  in  Leicester  Square — fifteen  shillins!"  It  was 
a  lady — such  a  lady! — As  far  as  her  head  and  arms  went  she  was 
inoffensive,  if  elegant,  and  seemed  more  than  contented  with  her- 
self. But  when  she  got  to  her  waist,  which  she  did  very  quick, 
as  it  was  tucked  under  her  chin,  she  began  to  boom,  and  only  sub- 
sided during  her  stockings.  However,  elegance  resumed  its  sway 
at  her  feet ;  although  they  certainly  would  have  been  larger  had  we 
been  consulted.  For  some  reason  known  only  to  the  publishers  and 
their  confederates,  an  appearance  of  sickly  red  and  green  and  blue 
had  been  produced,  suggesting  to  Charles  his  earliest  experiences  of 
the  Fine  Arts  when  he  was  allowed  to  paint  the  Illustrated  London 
News  out  of  his  new  colour-box,  on  condition  that  he  didn't  put 
the  brush  in  his  mouth.     This  suggestion  was  the  more  forcible 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  165 

because  the  confederates  seemed  to  have  practised  the  system  en- 
joined on  Charles,  the  suppression  of  Colour,  on  some  high  moral 
ground  little  appreciated  by  one  ambitious  of  a  Venetian  Secret 
of  mixing  Gum-water  with  Vermilion,  and  laying  it  on  thick. 

"I  suppose  you'll  say  that  isn't  mediaeval  either,"  continued  Mr, 
Jerrythought.  "You  are  the  most  narrow-minded  beggar  I  ever 
came  across."  We  may  apologise  for  his  way  of  using  the  word 
mediaeval  as  an  adjective  of  Art  pure  and  simple;  whereas,  when 
you  come  to  think  of  it,  it  really  refers  to  History  and  that  sort  of 
thing.  Charles  often  did  the  same.  Jeff  would  have  pointed  out, 
if  challenged,  that  epochs  and  periods  were  not  his  game;  and 
Charles  would  have  agreed.    Style  was  the  game  of  both. 

"It's  rubbish,  anyhow !"  said  Charles.  "I'd  sooner  have  the  Eben- 
ezer  Sproddle,  any  day  of  the  week." 

Jeff  appeared  shocked;  though  he  would  have  been  more  so  if  it 
had  been  Ebenezer,  as  alleged.  But  it  was  really  Robert,  and 
there  you  saw  the  value  of  a  name.  Why,  if  that  jug,  broken  as  it 
was,  was  put  up  at  Christie's,  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

Colloquies  of  this  sort  were  frequent,  and  sometimes  led  to 
warmth  of  expression  on  both  sides — not  directed  by  either  against 
the  other,  but  against  the  respective  hetes-noires  of  the  speakers. 
Charles  hadn't  much  patience  with  the  seventeenth  century,  but  he 
forgave  it  a  little  at  times.  Against  the  eighteenth  his  feelings 
were  those  of  the  Cherokee  towards  the  Choctaw.  If  it  had  been 
possible  to  scalp  a  Century,  he  certainly  would  have  done  it.  But 
though  you  may  seize  Time  himself  by  the  forelock,  metaphorically, 
he  is  indivisible,  and  cannot  be  taken  a  clause  at  a  time  like  a  Bill 
in  Committee.  Jeff's  task  of  overwhelming  the  Middle  Ages  with 
sarcasm  and  invective  was  a  harder  one,  owing  to  the  vastness  of 
the  area  to  be  traversed  and  the  comparative  uncertainty  of  infor- 
mation. But  young  men  of  imperfect  education  will  rush  in  where 
Philologists  and  Archaeologists  fear  to  tread,  and  Jeff  pluckily 
included  the  Religion,  Philosophy,  Literature,  and  Art  of  the 
Mediaeval  period  (dating,  say,  from  the  dawn  of  Byzantine  Art  to 
the  decoration  of  the  Sistine  Chapel)  in  the  broad  and  compre- 
hensive category  of  Rot. 

Charles,  who  really  had  some  education  of  a  sort,  over  and  above 
a  public-school  smattering  of  the  Classics,  was  much  more  detailed 
in  his  indictments  against  his  particular  aversion.  The  discovery 
in  the  cellar  of  the  bones  of  the  murdered  woman,  and  the  little 
he  had  been  able  to  gather  about  the  old  house  itself,  had  set  him 
a-thinking  about  toupees  and  patches,  and  sedan  chairs,  and  Wits 
and  Beaux  and  Beauties  in  the  old  ballroom  the  Vandal  picture- 


166  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

dealer  was  defiling.  And  when  he  recalled  what  little  he  had  read 
of  the  days  when  the  old  house  was  new  and  clean  and  smelt  of 
recent  plaster,  and  the  fields  were  fields  along  the  Oxford  Koad, 
and  the  cattle  from  the  country  stopped  to  drink  at  Bayes'  Water, 
near  Hyde  Park  Gardens,  and  the  air  was  fresher  in  the  spring- 
time, and  the  summer  breeze  more  richly  laden  with  the  scent  of 
hay,  and  the  town  cleaner  and  smaller — still,  in  spite  of  all  this,  he 
thought  of  the  days  when  the  old  house  was  building,  and  of  those 
that  followed,  with  shrinking  and  aversion.  For  they  seemed  to 
him  to  bristle  with  cards,  and  to  rattle  with  dice,  and  to  echo  with 
blasphemies,  and  to  reek  of  corks.  All  the  flashing  of  all  the  dia- 
monds, all  the  beauty  of  the  women,  or  as  much  of  it  as  one  could 
see  through  the  powder  and  the  patches;  all  the  wit  and  all  the 
repartee,  or  as  much  of  it  as  would  bear  repetition ;  all  the  spirited 
bloodshed  in  the  name  of  honour ;  all  the  Courts  of  all  the  Georges 
and  one  of  the  Annes,  whoever  the  other  may  be — all  the  eight- 
eenth century  in  a  word — was  for  Charles  so  flavoured  with  the 
atmosphere  of  wine-cellars,  so  resonant  of  dicers'  oaths,  so  foul  with 
its  apotheosis  of  its  own  sensualism,  that  even  the  respectable 
survivals  of  its  upholsteries  seemed  to  him  tainted,  and  he  could 
not  look  on  a  creditably  executed  mahogany  sideboard  in  one  of 
Jeff's  favourite  bric-a-brac  shops  without  a  suspicion  that  in  the 
good  old  time  when  it  was  new,  its  good  old  owners,  if  male,  fin- 
ished the  day  in  a  state  of  good  old  intoxication.  Of  course  this 
was  an  entirely  false  impression  of  a  very  deserving  Era,  pro- 
duced by  imperfect  study  which  had  lighted  on  one  or  two  doubtful 
passages  in  the  plays  of  Congreve  and  Wycherley,  and  a  dull  chap- 
ter in  Basselas. 

For  present  purposes  it  really  matters  very  little  if  Charles  did 
think  of  the  age  of  his  English  great-grandfathers  as  a  slough — a 
dreary  morass  with  Handel  shining  above  it  like  a  glorious  star, 
and  the  terrible  eloquence  of  Swift  denouncing  its  slime  from  a 
puddle  in  its  midst,  and  Blake  ignoring  it  and  getting  out  of  it 
unsullied  at  the  end.  Let  Charles  think  what  he  likes !  We  know 
that  it  really  was  a  brilliant  century,  and  that  Literature  and  the 
Arts  flourished.  Perhaps  if  the  latter  had  flourished -a  little  less 
and  taken  more  pains,  we  should  have  been  in  a  better  position 
to  share  Mr.  Jeff's  indignation  against  the  Vandal  dealer  when  he 
heard  that  it  was  absolutely  proposed  to  repaint  and  decorate  the 
ceiling  of  the  ballroom  as  soon  as  the  new  skylight  was  completed. 

This  reminds  us  that  it  was  when  the  two  went  away  to  lunch 
at  Cremoncini's  after  the  conversation  about  the  Misses  Prynne 
that  Jeff  told  Charles  of  this  atrocity.    We  were  just  going  to  tell 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  157 

about  this  when  we  got  led  away  into  a  discussion  on  the  Fine 
Arts,  which  has  lasted  till  now.  If  you  will  forgive  us,  we  will 
promise  not  to  do  so  any  more. 

"I  suppose  you  think  it  right  to  paint  over  the  ceilin'  and  rub 
out  Terpsichore?"  Thus  Jeff  at  cigarette  time  after  lunch  at 
Cremoncini's. 

"Bother  Terpsichore!"  said  Charles.  "She's  nearly  rubbed  out 
as  it  is!  Why  don't  you  ask  Bauerstein — that's  his  name,  isn't 
it? — to  let  you  remove  her  from  the  wall  for  yourself — ^ypu  could 
add  her  to  your  collection  of  Art-Treasures." 

"I  say — Charley!  I  wish  you'd  come  with  me  to  see  the  feller 
and  talk  to  him  about  it.  He  can't  understand  me,  and  of  course 
I  can't  speak  German.  The  builders  are  comin'  in  on  Monday, 
and  they'll  make  such  a  hash  of  the  ceilin'  there  won't  be  any 
chance " 

"Can't  Bauerstein  understand  English?" 

"Not  so  much  as  you'd  think.  Or  perhaps  he  pretends  he  don't. 
But  I  offered  him  a  sov.  to  let  me  try  to  get  Terpsichore  off  the 
wall ;  so  he  had  a  reason  for  understanding.    I  say,  Charley !" 

"What  do  you  say,  Jeff?" 

"Don't  be  spiteful  about  the  eighteenth  century,  but  come  along 
and  tackle  Bauerstein.    He'd  listen  to  you.    You  see  if  he  don't !" 

We  need  hardly  say  that  Charles,  thus  appealed  to,  consented. 
And  when  the  two  returned  to  No.  40  they  rang  Mr.  Bauerstein's 
bell,  and  explained  their  visit.  Charles  was  able  to  clear  up  a  mis- 
i^nderstanding.  The  German  had  imagined  Mr.  Jerrythought  to  be 
an  Artist  anxious  to  compete  for  the  redecoration  of  the  room; 
and,  supposing  himself  to  have  been  mistaken  by  that  gentleman 
for  a  confidential  employee  instead  of  the  principal  of  the  concern, 
had  interpreted  Jeff's  sov.  as  a  douceur  to  procure  his  influence  at 
headquarters.  He  had  neither  shown  nor  felt  any  indignation  at 
this,  but  taken  it  as  a  matter  of  course.  Oh  dear,  no !  he  said ;  he 
had  no  objection  to  the  removal  of  the  picture,  which  was  of  abso- 
lutely no  value.  Only  Mr.  Jerrythought  must  make  haste,  as  the 
builders  were  coming  on  Monday.  "You'll  have  to  come  and  help, 
Charley,"  said  Jeff.  And  Charles  found  himself  engaged,  some- 
what under  protest,  in  rescuing  with  assiduous  care  a  most  miser- 
able daub  (in  his  opinion)  from  the  hand  of  the  destroyer. 

But  the  whole  of  the  work  connected  with  the  preservation, 
removing,  relining,  renewing  of  any  picture  already  in  existence 
is  so  fascinating  as  compared  with  the  onerous  task  of  original 
composition,  in  which  we  are  never  certain  we  are  doing  right,  that 
Charles  soon  became  absorbed  in  it.     No  matter-  how  execrable 


158  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

the  object  of  antiquity  may  be,  we  become  blind  to  its  defects  the 
moment  we  have  to  do  anything  to  arrest  its  decay.  It  is  this  very 
enthusiasm  that  makes  the  Restorer  the  deadliest  of  Destroyers,  for 
nothing  can  ever  make  him  see  that  the  first  step  towards  ensuring 
the  continued  existence  of  anything  is  to  let  it  alone.  The  natural 
instinct  of  the  picture-restorer  is  to  take  steps  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  every  picture  before  it  is  dry.  But  he  likes  a  little  real 
antiquity  to  give  him  a  start. 

There  was  very  little  Terpsichore  left  to  conserve.  So  much  the 
better,  considered  as  an  object  of  enthusiasm.  Her  smirk  was  still 
there,  like  the  celebrated  grin  of  the  Cheshire  Cat  in  Wonderland, 
and  the  grace  of  the  design  was  thereby  manifest.  The  enthusiasm 
bcame  infectious,  and  Mr.  Bauerstein  got  involved  in  it  and  gave 
some  very  good  recommendations.  It  spread  to  the  region  of 
Stained  Glass,  and  Pope  &  Chappell  came  to  see  what  was 
going  on. 

A  fierce  controversy  raged  at  the  outset.  What  gum  or  glue 
should  be  used  to  attach  thin  tissue  paper  to  the  face  of  the 
precious  work  ?  Common  glue,  fish-glue,  isinglass,  gum  tragacanth, 
gum  arable,  flour  paste — all  had  their  advocates.  We  believe  the 
last  was  decided  on  and  left  till  the  next  day  to  get  quite  dry. 

Next  day  every  one  rose  feverishly  early,  and  went  to  see  how 
Terpsichore  was.  She  could  have  been  nothing  but  a  piece  of  wall- 
plaster  with  some  paper  pasted  on  it,  but  she  was  examined  and 
reported  on  as  if  she  had  been  a  successful  operation  for  appen- 
dicitis.    "In  a  very  good  state,"  was  the  verdict. 

The  next  step  was  to  attach  coarser  paper  and  then  follow  with 
a  succession  of  canvases,  each  coarser  than  its  predecessor,  until  at 
last  came  the  moment  to  decide  whether  we  would  simply  rip 
Terpsichore  off  by  main  force  or  whether  we  would  chip  continu- 
ally behind  her  with  flat  knives  until  she  came  away  of  her  own 
accord.  The  last  seemed  best,  and  Charles  and  Jeff  spent  a  day 
cautiously  worming  palette-knives  behind  Terpsichore,  and  fear- 
ing the  said  knives  might  at  any  moment  inflict  irreparable  injury. 

They  were  deeply  engaged  in  this  way,  and  the  German  had 
departed,  leaving  them  in  possession,  when  Charles,  who  was  work" 
ing  on  a  ladder  to  the  right  of  Terpsichore,  took  off  his  spectacles  to 
wipe  them,  and  accidentally  dropped  them  on  the  floor.  He  had 
thought  they  were  alone  in  the  room,  and  that  Bauerstein  when 
he  went  out  had  closed  his  door,  leaving  them  sole  occupants.  This 
could  not  be  the  case  clearly,  for  there  stood  a  lady,  who  certainly 
was  not  in  the  room  when  he  went  away,  and  who  could  not  have 
dropped  through  the  skylight.     She  had  noticed  evidently  that 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  169 

Charles  had  dropped  his  spectacles,  and  very  obligingly  stooped 
down  as  though  to  find  them  and  hand  them  to  him.  Charles 
caught  sight  of  the  glasses  under  the  ladder  and  stooped  to  pick 
them  up. 

"Who  did  you  say  thank-you  to?"  said  Jeff,  turning  round  from 
his  chipping  on  the  ladder. 

"That  lady,"  said  Charles. 

"I  saw  no  lady." 

"She  was  here  just  now,  anyhow,"  said  Charles. 

"Somebody  for  Bauerstein,  I  suppose.  But  he  must  have  left 
the  door  open.    Better  shut  it." 

Charles  went  out  to  do  so,  but  in  a  moment  came  back,  puzzled. 
"I  say,  Jeff!"  said  he.    "This  is  queer.    The  door's  shut!" 

"I  suppose  she  shut  it,"  said  Jeff,  prosaically  unconcerned,  and 
chipping. 

Charles  said  nothing,  but  went  out.  Jeff  heard  him  open  and 
try  to  close  the  door  gently,  then  with  added  force ;  then  finally  pull 
it  or  push  it  to  with  a  loud  slam.  Then  came  a  violent  ring  at 
the  bell.  Clearly  Charles  had  shut  himself  out.  Jeff  got  delib- 
erately down  the  ladder  and  went  to  the  door.  "What's  up  ?"  said 
he  as  he  let  Charles  in. 

'*You  go  outside  and  try  to  pull  that  door  to  quietly."  Jeff  did  as 
directed,  and  made  a  succession  of  ineffectual  trials,  increasing  in 
force,  till  the  door  hasped  to,  with  a  bang  that  echoed  through  the 
house. 

"The  door  was  shut,"  said  Charles.  "That  woman's  somewhere 
inside  still."  Jeff  suggested  waiting  a  minute  to  see  if  she  reap- 
peared of  her  own  accord,  but  she  didn't!  And  the  closest 
search  only  showed  that  the  two  young  men  were  alone  in  that  part 
of  the  house. 

"There's  only  the  skylight — and  the  chimney — and  the  drains — 
to  get  out  at,"  said  Jeff.  "Of  course  she  slammed  the  door  and  you 
didn't  notice  it." 

"Did  you?" 

"Oh  no !  I  didn't.  But  then  I  wasn't  in  it.  It  was  all  you  and 
her.    I  don't  come  in." 

"Gammon,  Jeff!  You  couldn't  be  off  hearing  the  door  slam. 
She  could  have  shut  herself  in  quietly,  but  she  couldn't  shut  her- 
self out." 

They  made  feeble  experiments  of  getting  the  hasp  to  hold  back  so 
as  to  allow  of  gentle  closing,  but  without  result.  The  door  had 
been  readjusted  to  separate  the  dealer's  sublet  from  the  remainder 
of  Pope  &  Chappell's  holding,  and  the  lock  was  venomously  self- 


160  ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 

assertive.  It  would  perform  its  proper  function,  but  would  do 
nothing  else — not  if  it  knew  it!  They  closed  the  door  and  went 
back  through  the  lobby  to  the  now  darkening  room.  They  laughed 
uneasily,  and  essayed  some  feeble  mutual  chaff  about  the  lady 
having  come  for  one  of  them.  But  it  didn't  work.  They  lit  the 
gas,  and  this  seemed  to  inaugurate  a  new  condition  of  things,  and 
to  enable  them  to  take  up  the  attitude  that  the  door  '*must  have" 
closed  without  their  hearing  it.  They  adduced  strange  instances 
of  people  who  had  slept  through  discharges  of  cannon  close  to  their 
ears.  The  improbability  per  se  of  the  door  closing  inaudibly  was 
made  use  of  to  cover  the  additional  stumbling-block  of  its  occur- 
ring to  two  persons  at  once.  It  was  such  a  rum  start  its  happening 
at  all,  that  the  coincidence  didn't  add  to  its  rumness.  "Just  as 
like  as  not  to  happen  to  both  at  once,  I  should  say,"  was  Jeff's 
verdict.  He  implied  that  once  such  high-class  rumness  was  afoot, 
we  might  expect  consistency  in  the  start  it  was  connected  with; 
it  would  work  out  alike  all  through. 

When  Man  has  to  account  for  an  unaccountable  phenomenon,  he 
goes  through  the  most  violent  mental  gymnastics  before  he  ac- 
knowledges himself  beaten.  Charles  and  Jeff  decided  that  if  they 
went  away  to  dinner  now  at  the  Cock  and  then  to  see  the  new 
melodrama,  they  would  have  time  to  talk  it  over.  And  they  talked 
it  all  over  through  dinner  and  through  the  blanks  in  the  per- 
formance— ^but  didn't  get  any  forwarder. 

"It  must  have  been  a  ghost !"  said  Charles  as  they  let  themselves 
in  at  No.  40. 

"Must  have  been  a  ghost !"  repeated  Jeff.    "I  say,  Charley ! " 

"Continue  your  remark,  Mr.  Jerrjrthought." 

"How  about  that  ghost  the  little  card  saw — Alice  the  kid? 
Ghost  of  a  woman!"  Both  had  thought  of  this,  but  Jeff  had  the 
courage  to  mention  it  first.  Perhaps  he  felt  he  had  a  less  dignified 
character  to  lose. 

"I  shall  go  to  bed,"  said  Charles,  abruptly.  "Just  the  child's 
fancy!"  he  added,  reflectively,  as  he  lighted  his  bedroom  candle. 
"Good-night,  Jeff !    Don't  see  any  more  Ghosts !" — 

But  he  thought  a  good  deal  about  it  all  the  same,  till  he  went  to 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  XV 

OF  Alice's  walk  to  surge  point  and  how  she  went  over  the  cliff. 
OF  a  declaration  at  a  crisis 

Alice  repudiated  with  scorn  the  idea  that  she  should  ever  get 
tired,  and  as  for  being  carried  by  Dr.  Johnson — a  great  big  girl  like 
her ! — she  was  such  a  weight,  dignity  apart,  as  to  put  it  quite  out  of 
the  question.  Dr.  Johnson's  reply  to  this  was  to  catch  her  and  put 
her  on  his  shoulder.  "Pleathe,  I  am  tho  vethy  big!"  was  the  pro- 
test, or  was  contained  in  the  confusion  of  exultation  and  pro- 
test, that  was  sandwiched  between  bursts  of  happy  laughter  in  a 
short  interlude  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house,  where  nothing 
would  grow  but  tamarisk  and  hydrangeas,  with  a  concession  to 
hart's-tongue  fern  in  the  buttress-wall  that  made  it  a  terrace,  be- 
cause of  the  water  trickling  through  from  the  clifi  behind. 

"What  a  silly  man  you  are  to  waste  your  strength  so!"  says 
Peggy,  coming  out  to  join  them.  "Do  put  the  child  down  imme- 
diately. When  she's  tired  she'll  be  glad  of  a  lift.  Now,  Alice 
dear!  You  take  hold  of  me  on  this  side,  and  Dr.  Johnson  on 
that — and  there  we  are !" 

But  the  trio  had  not  gone  very  far  when  they  were  called  back; 
that  is  to  say,  they  were  called  to  and  didn't  go  back,  but  called  in 
return,  and  neither  caller  could  hear  the  other.  So  Alice  went 
back  to  glean  particulars,  while  Peggy  and  the  Doctor  went 
slowly  on. 

In  the  course  of  time  the  small  emissary  overtook  them  bubbling 
over  with  entrusted  communication.  Minus  a  great  amovmt  of 
stammering,  lisping,  and  panting,  for  the  messenger  was  out  of 
breath,  the  actual  substance  was  as  follows:  Miss  Ellen  says  Mrs. 
Heath  says  the  Coastguardsman  said  it  wasn't  safe  along  the 
Undercliff  pathway  and  to  keep  along  the  hill-top  and  not  go  near 
the  edge,  and  it  was  written  up  no  public  road  but  never  mind! 
This  was  given  fairly  correctly — only  the  negotiation  of  the  words 
Coastguardsman  and  Undercliff  was  difficult,  and  early  associa- 
tions crept  in  in  the  rendering  of  public  road  as  public-house. 
Peggy  shuddered  at  the  expert  articulation  of  the  word.  "We'll 
try  to  do  without  the  public-house  this  time,  anyhow!"  said  Dr. 
Johnson,  cheerfully.    And  the  party  set  off. 

161 


162  ALICE-rOK-SHOET 

First  they  had  a  long  spell  of  sand,  sometimes  ribbed,  sometimes 
smooth;  sometimes  giving  way  and  revealing  undcrsludge;  some- 
times intersected  by  rivers  which  looked  like  nothing  till  you  were 
close  up,  but  had  to  be  walked  along  the  edge  of,  and  which  in  the 
end  deflected  the  traveller  towards  America  one  way,  and  the  other 
way  towards  the  point  he  started  from. 

Alice  wished  very  much  to  stop  and  dig  for  worms — a  fascinat- 
ing and  absorbing  employment;  but  for  its  full  enjoyment  a  fork 
is  necessary.  Practised  with  a  spade,  especially  a  wooden  one,  it  is 
painful  to  the  worms;  and  also,  except  he  be  hard  of  heart,  to 
the  digger.  If  a  vivisector  by  profession,  and  prone  to  scientific 
observation,  he  may  derive  instruction  from  the  way  in  which, 
when  a  worm  is  halved,  its  intellectual  end  wriggles:  but  no  one, 
scientific  or  otherwise,  can  pretend  to  be  satisfied  with  an  ampu- 
tation by  a  blunt  spade.  And  the  inconvenience  to  the  worm  of 
being  forced  through  the  sand  when  the  spade  is  too  blunt  to  cut 
it,  is,  we  hope,  obvious.  A  parasol,  or  sunshade,  though  it  may  spare 
the  worm,  is  apt  to  be  fruitless  and  platonic.  Therefore,  when  the 
party  arrived  at  an  expanse  of  half -dry  sand  on  which  the  worm- 
casts  were  so  clean  and  beautiful  that  they  made  one  wish  one 
was  small  enough  to  be  among  them,  as  among  hills  on  a  plain,  and 
enjoy  the  landscape,  no  doubt  Peggy  was  right  to  answer  Alice's 
appeal — "Only  just  one  worm.  Miss  Peggy — pleathe,  only  one" — 
with — "Nonsense,  child !  We  shall  never  get  to  Surge  Point.  Be- 
sides, it  spoils  my  sunshade,  if  one  digs  in  far  enough,"  However, 
Alice  was  consoled  by  being  allowed  to  have  her  shoes  off  and 
run  in  the  water,  some  weight  being  allowed  to  short  cuts  that  were 
open  to  her,  barefoot.  But  when  one  wishes  to  play  at  being  a  pony 
on  the  sands,  all  the  edge  is  taken  off  short-cuts. 

Rupert  Johnson  was  quite  distinctly  on  honour,  this  walk,  not 
to !  Not  to  what  ?  Don't  ask  impertinent  questions.  Let  it  suffice 
that  his  being  so  on  honour,  made  Peggy's  mind  easy  about  allow- 
ing Alice  to  go  free  on  the  sands,  whether  as  a  pony  or  a  seeker 
of  short-cuts.  It  would  perhaps  have  been  kinder  of  Peggy  to  make 
herself  as  ugly  as  possible,  under  the  circumstances,  instead  of 
putting  on  her  blue  muslin  with  sprigs,  and  her  hat  with  the 
white  ribbons.  They  suited  her  exactly,  and  you  would  have  been 
in  love  with  her  yourself,  if  you  had  seen  her.  We  had  very  nearly 
written  that  the  blue  muslin  was  a  new  rivet  in  the  attachment  of 
her  victim  to  his  idol — but  really  he  was  all  over  rivets,  and  there 
was  no  room  left  now  for  another.  As  he  walked  beside  her  there 
on  the  sands — keeping  a  respectful  distance  (eighteen  inches  or 
thereabouts),  on  honour! — he  was  simply  in  a  state  of  wild  intoxi- 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  163 

cation.  He  saw  nothing  but  Peggy — cared  nothing  for  the  jasper 
sea  that  was  now  a  moveless  mirror  for  the  same  great  white  cloud 
as  before,  which  itself  had  never  moved  all  day;  for  the  little  rip- 
pling wave  that  for  some  unknown  reason  decided  to  rise  and  come 
a  little  way  towards  the  shore  and  die,  with  a  short  memory  of 
floating  foam  above  its  tomb;  for  the  myriads  of  little  stiff  gulls, 
each  standing  on  its  own  inverted  image  in  the  wet  sand,  and  mak- 
ing us  wonder  where  he  can  have  packed  away  the  wings  that 
gleamed  so  large  just  now  in  the  sun,  as  he  floated  to  a  rather  better 
place  in  front  of  his  friends  with  a  musical  cry,  and  settled  down 
to  a  rather  nearer  view  of  what  they  were  all  looking  at  in  the  same 
direction.  He  had  no  eyes  for  the  great  headland,  sleeping  in  the 
sun,  that  they  were  soon  going  to  climb,  nor  for  the  white  sails, 
full-set,  of  the  motionless  sloops  that  had  tried  to  creep  round  it  all 
day,  and  failed.  Even  the  crab  that  ran  out  sideways,  from  under 
the  stone  he  kicked,  and  defied  him  with  outspread  claws  to  mortal 
combat,  could  not  make  him  withdraw  his  eyes  from  Peggy.  Peggy 
was  his  universe,  and  except  when  she  herself  called  his  attention 
to  incidents  in  the  other  universe — the  other  people's  universe — 
the  infatuated  young  man  took  no  more  notice  of  it  than  he  did 
of  the  crab.  But  he  was  an  honourable  young  man ;  and  as  he  was 
not  to,  he  didn't. 

"How  that  young  person  has  changed,  since  that  day  you  came 
to  the  Hospital — eight  months  ago!"  He  said  this  just  as  it 
became  clear  that  the  short-cut  programme  would  be  superseded 
by  the  pony,  and  Alice  careered  away  in  that  character  over  a 
favourable  surface  with  no  ribs  on  it. 

"Is  it  really  eight  months?    I  had  no  idea.    How  the  time  does 


run  away 


I" 


"Quite  eight  months — no!  almost  quite.  Her  accent's  so  im- 
proved. And  do  you  know  she  was  telling  me  all  about  Hubert  and 
Prince  Arthur  and  his  cruel  uncle  in  the  garden  just  now — before 
we  had  that  scrimmage  about  whether  I  was  to  carry  her." 

"How  did  you  come  to  Prince  Arthur?" 

"Because  she  said  she  called  me  King  Johnson.  That  led  to 
Prince  Arthur  naturally.  And  she  was  so  funny  about  Charley. 
*Do  you  know,'  said  she,  'when  I  was  a  vethy  vethy  vethy  little 
girl,  and  told  Pussy  stories — I  told  and  I  told — and  I  told  Pussy 
O  such  a  long  story  about  Prince  Spectacles.'  'Who  was  he,'  I 
asked?'  'I  fink,'  she  said,  'Mr.  Charley  was  Prince  Spectacles — I 
fink  so.  But  O,  it  was  such  a  vethy  vethy  long  time  ago !' "  And 
Johnson  imitates  Alice's  manner,  not  inadequately. 

"As  soon  as  we  catch  the  pony,"  says  Peggy,  "well  make  her 


164  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

tell  us  more  about  Prince  Spectacles.  I  wonder  when  that  dear 
silly  boy  means  to  come  down  here.    Did  he  tell  you  ?" 

"He  said  he  was  coming.  What  that  meant  I  can't  say !  He  and 
his  friend,  Mr.  Jerrythought " 

"Oh  yes !  Mr.  Jerrythought  ?"  Peggy  represses  a  disposition  to 
laugh. 

« ^were  much  exercised  about  a  ghost  they  had  seen." 

"That's  interesting!  But  what  ghost?  You  know  Alice  saw  a 
ghost  on  the  stairs " 

"Of  course  she  did!  I  remember  all  about  it.  And  we  said  it 
must  be  the  ghost  of  the  bones — in  the  cellar " 

"How  could  it  have  been  any  other  ghost  ?  No  doubt  at  all  about 
it,  I  should  say." 

"Are  you  in  earnest  ?    Do  you  believe  it  was  a  ghost  ?" 

"I  don't  think  I  do.  I  don't  think  I  quite  know  what  to  believe. 
But  if  it  was  a  ghost,  it  was  the  ghost  of  those  bones — of  their 
owner,  that  is!  But  what  was  Charley's  new  ghost — and  Mr. 
Jerrythought's ?"  With  the  same  disposition  to  laugh;  but  we 
would  not  leave  him  out  in  the  cold. 

"Charley  said  he  would  write  you  a  long  letter  about  it.  What 
he  told  me  was  that  he  and  his  friend  saw  a  lady  in  the  picture- 
dealer's  room,  and  they  didn't  know  how  she  got  in,  or  got  out." 

"Come  now.  Master  Rupert!  There  must  have  been  more  than 
that.  I  suppose  every  lady  one  sees  in  a  picture-dealer's  room  isn't 
to  be  a  ghost,  because  one  doesn't  know  how  she  got  in,  or  got 
out?" 

"I  don't  know.  Very  likely  I  got  it  wrong.  You'll  get  his 
letter " 

"Why  shouldn't  the  lady  have  come  in  at  the  door  like  every- 
body else?  As  they  did  themselves?  Because  if  the  door  wasn't 
oi)en  how  did  they  get  in  ?    It  wasn't  their  room." 

"I  don't  know.  Don't  ask  me.  That's  about  all  Charley  told 
me.  I  only  saw  him  a  few  minutes."  But  Peggy  persisted  in 
analysing  the  story,  in  spite  of  deficient  particulars. 

"What  did  he  mean  about  not  knowing  how  she  got  out?  Any- 
body can  get  out  of  anywhere — only  they  can't  get  in  when  the 
door's  locked." 

"He  said  something  about  how  they  hadn't  heard  the  door  shut. 
But  really  it's  no  use  asking  me.    I  only  got  half  the  story." 

"Hadn't  heard  the  door  shut !  Why,  of  course  she  didn't  shut  it. 
A  couple  of  geese !" 

The  conversation  was  momentarily  interrupted  by  an  application 
from  the  pony  for  Dr.  Johnson's  stick,  to  throw  into  the  water  for 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  166 

a  friend,  a  collie-dog,  who  seemed  to  live  on  the  shore,  waiting 
for  sticks.  Was  he  sure  to  bring  it  out  ?  The  pony  guaranteed  it — 
and  went  away  with  the  stick.  Peggy  went  on  demolishing  the 
evidence  she  had  not  heard.  She  was  only  following  time-honoured 
precedents  in  her  treatment  of  the  miraculous  or  supernatural.  A 
few  of  these,  taken  at  random,  are,  judgment  first,  data  afterwards ; 
supply  of  data,  at  choice,  from  one's  own  stock;  an  unfair  bias 
against  other  people's  spooks;  an  ascription,  by  implication,  of 
Cretinism  to  previous  investigators,  and  so  on.  However,  one 
generally  makes  up  for  one's  behaviour  towards  the  Psychical 
Researches  of  others  by  the  excessive  impartiality,  amounting  some- 
times to  onesidedness,  with  which  one  treats  one's  own.  But  we 
have  no  time  now  to  do  justice  to  this  interesting  subject. 

By  the  time  Peggy  had  got  her  brother  and  his  friend  properly 
classified — given  them  a  very  low  degree,  or  plucked  them  outright 
as  Ghostleaders — they  were  drawing  near  the  place  for  leaving  the 
shore  and  mounting  the  cliff.  The  pony  was  a  very  minute  spot 
almost  out  of  hearing;  but  was  recovered,  none  the  dryer  for  its 
adventures,  after  shouting.  Also,  the  collie-dog  had  swum  out 
to  the  stick ;  but  after  examining  it,  had  decided  it  was  the  wrong 
stick,  and  had  come  back  without  it  for  another,  and  had  barked 
as  a  dog  barks  who  is  surprised  and  hurt,  but  not  angry.  The 
stick  had  gone  for  an  Atlantic  voyage;  there  was  no  help  for  it! 
Then  followed  incident  connected  with  getting  the  pony's  stock- 
ings on.  And  then  a  pause  on  the  shingly  beach  for  rest,  the 
party  being  hot  with  walking  in  the  sun.  Peggy  seemed  to  think 
she  owed  something  to  Psychical  Research,  after  her  recent  treat- 
ment of  it,  and  catechised  Alice  about  her  experience  with  the 
spotted  lady. 

*1  sawed  her  coming  straight  down  the  stairs,"  recapitulated 
Alice,  "and  go  froo  the  airey-door  out — right  out — into  the  airey — 
all  by  herself." 

"Did  she  look  glad  or  sorry,  Alice  ?"  asked  Johnson. 

"Oh!     Sorry!!"  very  emphatically. 

"Poor  spotted  lady!  Somebody  must  have  hurted  her — who 
was  it,  I  wonder?" 

"Really,  Master  Rupert,  I  can't  have  you  making  Alice  use  wrong 
words.  She's  getting  an  accomplished  historian,  but  she's  a  bad 
linguist." 

"I  apologise.  It's  hurt — it's  not  hurted.  Somebody  must  have 
hurt  her— eh!  Alice?" 

"Somebody — must — have — hurt  her!"  says  Alice,  by  instalments, 
to  be  prepared  for  hurt,  which  is  fired  off  correctly.    Peggy  feels 


166  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

she  has  done  her  duty  by  Lindley  Murray,  but  rather  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  conversation.  She  wishes  to  make  amends.  There  is  a 
flight  of  steps  cut  in  the  rock  just  above  where  they  are  sitting, 
and  an  idea  occurs  to  her. 

"You  go  up  those  steps  and  come  down  like  the  lady  did — 
pretend  you're  the  lady!  Stop  a  minute — we'll  put  the  spots  on.'* 
And  Peggy  proceeds  to  decorate  Alice's  face  with  little  patches  of 
sea-weed.  "Two  here — two  here — one  here — and  one  here !  Is  that 
right?" 

Yes — that's  right!  And  off  goes  Alice.  But  she  returns  half- 
way, because  one  of  the  spots  has  come  off  and  flowed  away.  She 
enters  into  the  part,  feeling  it  intensely,  and  must  have  every- 
thing right.  The  second  time,  the  performance  comes  off.  Peggy 
cannot  help  thinking  to  herself,  how  strange  it  would  have  been, 
if  the  story  had  been  real  (which  of  course  it  wasn't),  and  the 
murdered  woman  could  have  foreseen  that  a  hundred  years  later 
a  child  would  be  pretending  to  be  her,  in  the  sun,  on  Shellacombe 
beach. 

"Why  did  you  catch  hold  of  yourself  by  the  tummy,  you  funny 
child  ?"  says  Peggy,  when  Alice  returns  amidst  the  applause  of  the 
audience.  The  piece  has  been  most  successful,  but  the  incident 
of  the  actress  holding  her  left  side  with  both  hands  was  not  known 
to  be  in  the  text. 

"Because  the  lady  come  down  the  stairs — and  froo  the  airey — 
with  bofe  hands  like  that."  And  Alice  encores  the  action  described 
and  continues:  "The  spots  never  stickeded  on,  only  just  till  the 
bottom  step.  Then  they  flowed  away."  She  has  an  Artist's 
pleasure  at  this  not  having  occurred  earlier,  and  impaired  the 
climax. 

Johnson  looks  puzzled,  interested,  excited — a  little  uncomforta- 
ble. But  no  further  speculations  can  be  indulged  in — because  we 
shall  never  get  to  Surge  Point,  at  this  rate.  Peggy  quite  agreed 
to  this,  and  the  party  started  on  their  upward  path.  Alice  was 
allowed  to  go  on  in  front,  under  a  guarantee  that  she  would  not 
go  near  the  edge  and  look  over. 

"Why  didn't  Alice  tell  about  the  hands  before  ?"  said  Johnson. 

"Do  you  think  that  looks  as  if  she  was  romancing,  as  Part- 
ridge calls  it?  I  don't.  To  me  it  goes  all  the  other  way.  If  I 
had  to  tell  an  incident  in  words,  I  should  be  sure  to  leave  some- 
thing undescribed,  that  I  should  be  equally  sure  to  act,  if  I  did 
like  Alice  did,  and  put  it  on  the  stage.  There's  the  Undercliff 
path — we're  not  to  go  along  there.  Straight  on — Alice!  No — not 
that  way!    Straight  on!" 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  167 

Alice  ran  on  in  front,  talking  and  singing  to  herself.  She 
<seemed  to  Peggy  to  have  changed  completely  from  the  subdued 
and  ill-nourished  morsel  of  humanity  that  Charles  had  brought 
home  in  the  cab,  eight  months  ago — as  completely  as  her  mother 
had  changed  when  the  Alcohol  demon  flew,  and  left  her  to  die  in 
decency.  One  thing  is  very  certain,  that  Miss  Alice  was  now  hav- 
ing a  high  old  time,  as  the  phrase  is;  and  that,  child-like,  she 
accepted  her  happiness  without  wonder  or  speculation,  as  she  had 
accepted  her  misery  without  complaint. 

Oh  dear,  how  hot  it  was  to  be  sure,  climbing  up  that  hill-side 
under  the  afternoon  sun !  It  had  been  hotter  certainly  at  mid-day, 
if  that  was  any  extenuation.  But  it  was  hot  enough  still  to  jus- 
tify Alice  in  saying  that  a  half-way-up  rest  on  a  stone  ledge  was 
like  sitting  on  the  hob.  However,  there  is  an  end  to  all  things ;  and 
it  was  all  the  pleasanter  when  the  smooth  round  sweeps  of  down- 
land  were  reached,  and  the  party  was  working  along  the  path  that 
was  not  a  public  road,  enjoying  the  freshness  of  the  sea-wind  and 
the  chorus  of  the  innumerable  gulls  below.  They  met  no  living 
creature  except  one  sheep,  who  seemed  to  have  missed  her  party, 
and  who  would  bleat  and  stop,  and  wait  for  answer  and  get  none, 
and  then  start  running  again  and  be  heard  bleating  plaintively 
elsewhere.  Alice  was  much  concerned  and  wanted  to  offer  sym- 
pathy and  assistance ;  but  there  were  difficulties  about  this,  and  the 
idea  had  to  be  given  up. 

The  day  was  getting  on  (for  they  were  much  behind  their 
intended  time)  when  they  came  within  what  seemed  a  short  dis- 
tance of  the  great  lighthouse,  very  white  and  very  clean  like  a 
well-made  model  popped  down  on  a  smooth  carpet  of  down,  with 
the  sweet  immeasurable  blue  beyond.  They  were  on  the  highest 
point  of  the  down,  and  they  bivouacked  a  little  to  enjoy  the  view, 
before  descending  to  the  lighthou,se.  The  wind  was  repenting  of 
its  apathy  all  day,  and  was  making  up  its  mind  that  those  sloops 
and  that  brigantine  should  get  roimd  the  point  at  last,  and  not  lie 
becalmed  all  night.  They  could  see  the  wind-sweep  spreading  on 
the  water,  and  watched  for  the  flap  of  the  white  sails  as  they 
greeted  its  arrival;  and  saw  them  stir,  then  vacillate,  then  take 
the  wind  and  start — but  oh,  so  slowly!  It  looked  to  Alice  as  if  so 
little  wind  as  that  could  never  do  them  any  good.  Why  couldn't 
that  great  huge  steamer  out  there,  whose  engines  we  could  hear  so 
plainly  up  here  at  this  height,  just  turn  a  little  out  of  her  course 
and  pick  them  all  up  and  take  them,  free  of  charge,  to  Bristol  or 
Cardiff?    Why  not,  indeed? 

Alice,  interested  in  the  ships  and  the  steamer,  went  away  a  short 


168  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

distance  from  her  companions,  replying,  to  Peggy's  frequent  cau- 
tions not  to  go  near  the  edge,  that  there  was  no  edge,  only  smoove, 
smoove,  smoove  fields — like  this;  and  Alice  patted  the  sheep- 
cropped  down  to  show  how  smooth  it  was.  Peggy  called  her  back, 
and  she  came.  But  Alice  was  a  good  obedient  child  only  in  a 
partial  or  limited  sense.  When  she  obeyed  you  once,  she  con- 
sidered that  that  was  enough,  and  that  it  was  no  business  of  hers 
to  consider  the  spirit  of  your  instructions.  Having  once  come  back 
she  had  done  her  duty,  and  might  go  away  again.  It  was  not  her 
business  to  take  note  that  Miss  Peggy  and  King  Jomson,  as  she 
called  him,  had  accidently  become  much  absorbed  in  something 
they  had  to  talk  about,  and  were  not  aware  she  had  gone  away 
again,  to  get  a  rather  nearer  view  of  the  ships.  On  the  contrary 
she  regarded  this  absorption  as  favourable  to  her  own  freedom  of 
action.  She  would  have  come  back  in  an  instant  if  either  had 
called ;  but  as  it  chanced  neither  did  so.  We  need  not  suppose  that 
Master  Rupert  was  forgetting  his  compact,  though  for  anything 
we  know,  he  might  have  been.  He  was  lying  on  the  turf  at  Peggy's 
feet,  with  his  chin  on  his  hands,  and  his  feet  towards  the  sea.  So, 
even  if  he  had  had  eyes  for  anything  but  Peggy's  face  against  the 
blue,  he  could  not  see  Alice,  and  no  doubt  fancied  Peggy  was 
keeping  her  eyes  on  her.  So  she  thought  she  was  herself ;  but  you 
can't  possibly,  always,  don't  you  know.  If  you  happen  to  be  talk- 
ing seriously  to  a  friend,  and  she  (or  he)  is  saying  something  that 
engrosses  you,  entertains  you,  pleases  or  displeases  you  very- 
much — well !  every  now  and  then  you're  sure  to  flag  in  your  atten- 
tion; and  then  Alice  dances  away  out  of  range,  or  the  equivalent 
thing,  whatever  it  may  be  in  your  case,  happens.  And  then  you 
start,  as  Peggy  did,  and  come  back  into  the  world  of  consciousness 
and  action,  from — whatever  other  world  you  may  happen  to  have 
been  in.  Metaphysics,  Cookery,  Political  Economy,  anything ! 

"Oh  dear !  I  wish  the  child  wouldn't  go  out  of  our  sight,"  said 
she  as  Alice  vanished,  evidently  walking,  beyond  an  outline  of  the 
hill  against  the  sea.  Peggy  got  up  to  follow  her,  and  so  did 
Johnson. 

"She's  all  right  there,"  said  he.  "It's  not  a  precipice  when  you 
get  there — these  places  are  so  deceptive.  But  I'll  go  after  her  and 
fetch  her  back."  Peggy  waited  where  she  stood,  on  the  main  path- 
way to  the  lighthouse,  with  tiie  little  heaps  of  stones  along  it,  kept 
fresh-painted  white  to  show  the  road  on  dark  winter  nights.  She 
was  not  anxious;  she  knew  the  ways  of  these  cliff-sides  too  well. 
If  you  were  to  be  anxious  every  time  any  one  went  out  of  sight, 
there  would  never  be  an  end  to  it.    They  would  be  back  directly. 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  169 

Besides,  Master  Rupert  could  see  her  now — ^he  was  out  of  sight 
himself.    They  would  be  back  directly.  .  .  . 

How  funnily  the  bleat  of  that  sheep  sounded!  How  it  ran 
about  too!  It  was  over  there  just  now,  and  that  last  time  it 
sounded  as  if  it  was  down  the  hill-side  towards  the  sea,  where  Alice 
was.  Surely  that  foolish  little  monkey  had  not  gone  running  down 
to  the  cliff  to  see  the  sheep.  She  must  have  gone  on  a  long  way 
though!  But  there  could  be  nothing  wrong,  or  Master  Rupert 
would  have  shouted  back.  There  was  the  sheep  again — ^poor  thing ! 
it  sounds  quite  in  despair — stop ! 

"It  isn't  the  sheep  at  all — it's  Alice!" 

Peggy  neither  says  nor  hears  these  words.  As  she  looked  back 
after  to  that  terrible  moment,  they  seemed  to  come  into  her  memory 
with  the  rest  of  the  scene — ^with  the  glorious  sea  and  all  Heaven 
above  it,  with  the  land  under  enchantment  from  the  first  lengthen- 
ing of  the  shadows,  with  the  endless  music  of  the  sea-birds  below — 
even  the  mysterious  note  of  the  wind  on  the  telegraph  wire  that 
warns  the  life-boat  of  ships  sighted  in  distress,  or  wrecks  so  near 
that  the  rocket  apparatus  is  the  only  chance  of  rescue.  They 
would  all  come  back  vividly  to  her  recollection,  and  with  them, 
just  as  vividly,  the  words  she  neither  spoke  nor  heard,  but  that 
filled  the  place  just  the  same.  "It  isn't  the  sheep  at  all — ^ifs 
Alice!" 

How  quickly  one  can  think  when  thought  is  driven,  forced,  stung 
into  the  brain.  As  Peggy  ran  (and  she  ran  hard  too)  to  the  point 
at  which  Johnson  had  disappeared  the  thought  had  time  to  form  in 
her  mind:  I  shall  lose  them  both!  That  Alice  had  slipped  down 
some  awful  precipice,  and  that  Johnson  was  after  her — that  was 
clear  as  noonday  to  her  almost  before  she  started.  But  then,  all 
in  a  few  seconds,  followed  a  hideous  vision! — she  would  go  home 
alone — alone!  The  intensity  of  the  horror  of  her  coming  to  the 
house  to  tell  of  it — even  worse,  the  telling  of  her  brother  after- 
wards— all  crowded  into  that  little  span  of  time  between  the  mo- 
ment when  she  heard  the  sheep  cry  last,  and  when  she  saw,  still 
some  little  way  below  her,  the  figure  of  Rupert  Johnson,  who  must 
surely  have  gone  mad,  as  he  was  to  all  seeming  pulling  off  his 
boots  and  stockings. 

Peggy  ran!  Oh,  how  she  ran!  And  so  running  she  suddenly 
grasped  the  explanation — Alice  had  slid  down  the  rounding  curve 
of  slippery  down,  growing  steeper  and  steeper,  till  even  the  sheep 
that  cropped  the  short  herbage  had  no  foothold  on  the  grass  itself, 
and  could  only  reach  it  from  the  tiny  roads  they  themselves  had 
made  in  countless  ages.    If  Johnson  went  down  there  after  her  she 


J70  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

would  to  a  certainty  lose  them  both.  Even  barefoot,  as  she  saw 
he  meant  to  try  it,  he  would  never  keep  his  feet.  And  then  she 
knew  she  was  blocking  her  mind  against  the  thought  of  what  losing 
Johnson  meant.  It  was  sounding  its  summons  at  the  door,  but 
she  refused  to  admit  it. 

She  seized  Johnson's  arm  when  she  reached  him.  You  will  see 
how  quickly  all  this  passed  from  the  fact  that  it  was  while  he 
took  off  two  lace-up  boots,  and  an  ordinary  pair  of  socks — not 
stockings. 

"Not  both!  Not  both!!  Oh,  Alice,  my  darling,  forgive  me!" 
The  despairing  cry  had  no  expectation  that  Alice  could  hear — 
it  was  just  the  form  a  pang  took.  Johnson  hesitated — ^barely  a 
second.    Would  she  not  release  his  arm  ? 

"Margaret  Heath,  I  love  you  more  than  all  else  there  is  for  me 
in  Heaven  or  Earth — ^but  let  me  go! — I  ask  it."  His  voice  fell  as 
he  repeated  again,  "I  ask  it."  But  Margaret  clung  to  his  arm — 
"I  cannot  bear  to  lose  you  both,"  she  said,  quite  rapidly,  under  her 
breath. 

And  in  that  moment,  this  man  knew  what  he  would  have  to  live 
for,  if  he  lived.  But  he  knew  he  would  not  be  worthy  of  it,  if  he 
allowed  the  excuse  that  he  could  not  release  himself  without  vio- 
lence. It  was  true,  for  Peggy  was  no  chicken;  a  great,  strong, 
splendid  girl — ^more  than  a  match  for  many  a  man  of  small 
strength.  Johnson  was  distinctly  a  powerful  man,  but  Peggy 
gripped  him  firmly,  and  it  would  have  to  be  violence  or  sub- 
mission. 

"Oh,  Rupert  Johnson — I  cannot  bear  to  lose  you.  Not  both! 
Not  both!" 

It  was  a  hard  trial.  But  the  cry  Peggy  had  thought  was  the 
sheep  came  again.  He  hesitated  no  more.  "Forgive  me,"  said 
he,  "for  I  love  you." 

He  shook  her  off  suddenly  with  force;  it  was  needed.  In  fact, 
she  staggered  and  fell.  She  loved  him  for  his  strength,  and  imme- 
diately picking  herself  up,  ran,  barely  glancing  round  to  see  him 
as  he  went  cautiously  barefoot  down  the  awful  curve,  and  ran,  ran, 
ran  till  she  reached  the  lighthouse. 

As  far  as  Peggy  could  remember,  after,  what  happened  when 
she  got  there,  screaming — "They're  over  the  cliff — they're  over 
the  cliff!" — it  was  in  this  wise:  She  ran,  crying  out  continu- 
ally, through  a  backyard  devoted  to  the  cultivation  of  fuchsias, 
and  the  washing  of  rather  clean  clothes,  and  was  met  by  their 
laundress,  who  was  large  and  trustworthy — of  that  there  could 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  171 

be  no  doubt! — and  who  instantly  called  out  Phaylim.  Some- 
thing whistled  and  said,  "Pst — quick!"  Then  she  was  aware  of 
one — two — three  men  in  navy  blue — one  with  a  great  bare  throat, 
with  a  long  coil  of  rope  on  his  shoulder.  And  although  she  had 
the  dimmest  impression  of  the  number  and  personality  of  these 
men,  a  long  scar  on  the  throat  of  the  rope-man  that  began  under 
the  ear  and  ended  on  a  massive  clavicle  was  as  clear  to  her  as  if 
she  had  not  been  fainting  away.  Then  things  disappeared,  scar  and 
all;  but  not  before  she  caught  an  Irish  question  from  the  Coast- 
guard laundress — "Me  dyurr — will  ye  thry  thin  and  till  us  where 
your  f rinds  are?"  She  struggled  hard  to  get  words  out — she  knew 
what  to  say  could  she  have  spoken,  as  she  had  arranged  it  all 
before — ^but  it  was  useless.  Everything  vanished  as  a  man's  voice 
said — "No  good!  Search!" — and  was  followed  by  rapid  exit  and 
running  on  the  turf  outside.  Then  all  became  a  blank  until  she 
found  herself  again  in  the  same  place  supported  by  a  powerful 
soapy  arm.    She  was  being  criticised. 

"She's  a  darrlin',  shure!     She'll  spake  directly!" 

"She  has  got  hair,  tu !"    This  was  a  Devonshire  accent. 

"Ye're  an  imperrtinent  maiden!     Lave  the   locks   alone ^* 

The  Irishwoman  had  accepted  some  Devonshire  phrases  evidently. 
"Win  ye  thry  her  again  with  the  glass  to  her  lips,  Phaylim  ?  Thry 
one  little  sip,  me  dyurr!     There's  a  warrld  of  good  in  it.    Just 

to  put  the  hearrt  in  ye !     That's  right ! "    And  Peggy,  more  to 

oblige  than  with  any  hope  of  benefit,  swallowed  the  nasty  stuff. 
But  the  Irishwoman  was  right — within  two  minutes,  she  drew 
a  long  breath,  and  the  world  came  back  in  intelligible  form.  She 
sat  up  and  spoke. 

"Oh,  how  good  you  are !  But  they  are  killed.  I  know  it !"  And 
Peggy  sat  on,  dumb,  with  the  weight  of  all  lost  upon  her. 

"Is  it  your  f rinds  thin,  that  wint  over  the  cliff?  You  be  asy,  me 
dyurr!    Lave  thim  to  the  bhoys " 

"I  want  to  show  you  where  they  are,"  said  Peggy,  suddenly 
awaking  to  the  position  and  struggling  up  to  her  feet.  She  stag- 
gered and  collapsed  again  on  a  wooden  settee.  "Oh,  in  a  niinute,"^ 
she  said. 

"It's  a  chance  the  young  men  have  found  them  by  now.    You've 

little  call  to  be  anxious.  Miss "    But  this  sort  of  consolation, 

quavering  and  conscientious,  does  not  suit  Phelim's  wife,  in 
whom  Hope  seems  as  strong  as  her  brogue:  her  husband's  is  very 
slight. 

"You  lave  thim  to  the  bhoys,  me  darrlin' !  Shure  I  hear  them 
coming  on  the  harrd  sod.  Listen  to  the  fate  of  'em."  But  this  w^« 


172  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

only  a  pious  fiction.  Peggy  heard  no  feet,  and  wanted  to  go  to 
meet  them. 

"Not  yet,  me  dyurr! — ^Ye'll  wait  here  with  me,  and  Phaylim  '11 
go.  Go  and  mate  the  boys,  Phaylim.  And  when  ye  know, 
whistle!  ..."  Peggy  heard  these  last  words  somewhat  under- 
toned,  and  fancied  she  had  not  been  meant  to  hear  them.  They 
made  her  shudder,  though  they  were  but  little  in  themselves.  "It's 
yoursilf  will  stay  here  with  me,  quiet  like;  and  the  bhoys  '11  be 
here  within  tin  minutes." 

Whether  it  was  ten  minutes,  or  ten  hours,  Peggy  could  not  have 
guessed  from  anything  in  the  context,  but  in  the  end  a  whistle 
sounded — "Will  ye  belave  me  another  time,  whin  I  say  it's  all 
right?"  said  the  Irishwoman.  "Twiced  whistlin'  manes  all  right; 
wanst  is  for  a  casualty,"  she  went  on  explanatorily.  Then  both 
ran  out  reassured.  There  they  were  coming!  But  Peggy  was 
hysterical  and  could  see  nothing,  for  tears  and  the  dazzle  of  the 
westering  sun,  which  was  just  in  a  line  with  the  coming  group. 

"Oh — tell  me — tell  me !"  she  cried,  "is  it  a  gentleman  and  a  little 
girl  ?    Is  it  both  ?"    She  caught  the  soapy  arm,  and  detained  it. 

"Well  now,  I  fale  for  ye  as  if  it  was  mesilf !"  says  the  kind- 
hearted  creature.  "He's  comin'  down  the  hill  with  your  little  girl 
on  his  showlthers,  pig-a-back."  Whereon  Peggy,  quite  upset,  could 
do  no  otherwise  than  burst  into  a  torrent  of  tears  of  joy,  and  fairly 
throw  herself  in  her  gratitude  on  the  ample  bosom  of  the  Coast- 
guard's lady.  "Oh,  you  are  so  good!"  she  cried.  But  they  seemed 
to  take  ever  so  long  coming.    What  a  distance  she  must  have  run ! 

If  you  feel  a  little  ashamed  of  Peggy  for  collapsing  in  this 
absurd  way,  be  good  enough  to  remember  what  she  had  gone 
through.  It  seems  to  us  that  to  see  the  man  whom  in  her  own  mind 
and  heart  she  had  just  made  the  most  of  that  any  woman  can  make 
of  any  man — to  see  him  disappear  over  that  awful  vanishing  curve 
to  what  seemed  certain  death,  and  then  to  master  the  point  that  she 
could  not  help,  and  that  the  nearest  soonest  help  must  be  got;  and 
then  to  run  as  she  ran — it  was  a  good  half-mile  as  it  proved; — it 
certainly  seems  to  us  that  all  this  made  up  about  as  severe  a  trial 
as  yourself  or  we  could  get  through  unmoved.  And  Peggy,  for  all 
her  Philosophy,  and  her  great  resolutions,  had  many  characteris- 
tics in  common  with  other  human  women.  However,  she's  all  right 
again  now,  in  the  story,  and  Johnson  is  coming  down  the  hill  with 
Alice  on  his  shoulders ;  and  she  is  even  turning  over  in  her  mind — 
will  you  believe  it? — whether  she  won't  do  a  little  dignity  on  the 
subject  of  her  surrender.  It's  so  awkward! — she  can't  even  re- 
member exactly  what  she  said.  .  .  . 


ALICE-FOR-SHOKT  173 

As  for  Alice,  she — poor  child! — is  simply  in  a  dumbfounded 
haze,  not  by  any  means  clear  about  what  has  happened.  Master 
Kupert  alone  is  unmoved.  He  has  got  his  boots  on  again,  but  is 
hatless.  Traces  of  scrapings  can  be  detected  on  his  waistcoat,  and 
is  there  not  some  blood  on  his  hand  ?  "Yes — but  I  didn't  get  that 
on  the  grass,"  says  he.  "That  was  an  independent  affair  alto- 
gether." 

They  pass  through  the  garden  and  into  the  lighthouse  room  where 
Peggy  fainted.    Johnson  speaks  first : 

"You  must  forgive  me,  for  the  reason  I  said." 

"Forgive  you.  Master  Rupert?    What  for?" 

"For  knocking  you  down,  of  course !" 

"Did  you  knock  me  down?  Alice  dear,  go  with  this  lady,  and 
she'll  let  you  wash  your  hands  and  face  in  nice  warm  water.  You're 
all  grubbied  and  dusted  all  over " 

"Shure  and  I  will!  And  will  ye  take  tay?"  Thus  the  Irish- 
woman— who  is  the  mother,  it  seems,  of  the  massive  collarbone, 
who  is  not  a  resident,  but  a  young  man-of-war's  man  over  from 
PljTnouth,  on  a  visit.  We  certainly  will  take  tay  although  it's 
past  six  o'clock.  And  the  Devonshire  girl  disperses,  to  prepare  it. 
Phelim  and  the  three  young  men,  all  mysteriously  known  to  John- 
son already  by  their  Christian  names,  also  disperse,  perhaps  from 
an  instinct.    Johnson  and  Peggy  are  left  alone. 

Peggy  wanted  in  her  inmost  heart  to  fling  dignity  to  the  winds — 
but  she  was,  as  we  have  lately  said,  a  woman.  Johnson  did  not 
feel  quite  sure  he  would  not  be  presuming  too  much  if  he  took 
her  for  granted  in  consequence  of  a  few  chance  words  under  ten- 
sion of  such  excitement.  There  were  the  materials  for  a  minute 
or  two  of  stiffness.  But  it  could  not  and  did  not  last  long.  As 
you  can  guess  at  the  sort  of  way  in  which  it  ceased,  there  can  be 
no  need  to  tell  you. 

"There's  Alice  coming  now,"  said  Peggy.  "Yes — ^you  may  call 
me  anything  you  like.  It's  one  comfort  I  can  call  you  Rupert 
instead  of  Dr.  Johnson,  which  I  hate.  It's  like  Boswell! — Take 
care,  or  you'll  scratch  your  hand  again."  For  it  appeared  that 
the  blood  on  Dr.  Johnson's  hand  was  made  by  Peggy's  ring,  when 
he  dragged  his  own  out  of  her  grasp,  and  as  he  said,  "knocked  her 
down."  It  was  Alice's  ring,  or  what  was  to  be  hers  one  day,  and 
Peggy  was  wearing  it,  as  she  alleged,  to  keep  it  aired  for  her. 

Alice's  account  of  the  accident  was  that  she  didn't  go  near  the 
edge,  but  had  done  religiously  as  she  was  told.  But  the  ground 
was  so  greathy,  that  she  went  like  boys  on  a  thlide.     And  she 


174  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

imitated  the  way  in  which  she  began  to  slide,  and  finally  went 
down  on  her  hands  and  knees.  But  then  it  was  too  late  to  save 
herself,  and  she  went  on  and  on,  until  at  last  she  crossed  over  a 
little  ledge  of  sheep  track.  She  gave  the  idea  that  she  missed  it 
with  her  feet,  but  partly  stopped  herself  by  catching  at  it  with  her 
hands — perhaps  straightening  herself  on  the  line  of  the  slope 
and  thereby  favouring  a  lower  ledge,  on  which  her  feet  caught 
and  stopped.  Poor  Alice!  The  position  was  awful.  She  might 
even  have  died  of  terror  could  she  have  conceived  the  precipice 
below.  But  luckily  for  her,  she  did  not  realise  anything  worse  than 
that  there  was  water  there,  and  she  might  fall  in.  A  sheer  fall  of 
two  hundred  feet  did  not  come  into  her  calculations. 

"Oh,  I  was  frightened!"  said  she.  "I  tried  to  squeam  and  I 
squeamed — but  I  couldn't  squeam  well  because  I  went  f  ump,  f  ump, 
fump — oh,  80  hard!  You  never,  never,  never  would  have  fought 
it  was  me,  to  hear  it !    But  it  was  me." 

"And  what  happened  next,  Alice?" 

"Oh,  then  Dr.  Jomson  said  hold  tight  and  call  out  again  Alice — 
and  I  said  please  I  was  down  here.  Then  I  saw  Dr.  Jomson  dig- 
ging in  his  knife  into  the  ground." 

"I  was  obliged  to  make  one  or  two  holes  in  the  ground  to  get  a 
foothold,"  said  he,  explanatorily.     Alice  went  on: 

"Then  Dr.  Jomson  turned  upside  down,  and  came  down  with 
his  hands,  and  catched  me  round  here" — ^grasping  her  wrists  alter- 
nately. "And  Dr.  Jomson  said  me  to  keep  quite  quite  still,  and 
we  sould  do  nithely  for  half-an-hour." 

"Yes !  And  Alice  said  she  should  like  to  go  home  please,  didn't 
you,  Alice?"    Alice  nodded,  with  feeling. 

"But  I  can't  understand!"  said  Peggy.  "How  did  you  manage 
to  hold  on?" 

"Why — don't  you  see  ?  I  dug  out  these  holes  to  catch  my  toes  in, 
and  went  down  head  foremost." 

"How  awful!" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!  There  was  a  nasty  moment  before  I  knew 
it  would  hold — but  as  soon  as  it  felt  firm  I  knew  it  was  all 
right " 

"Wasn't  it  awful  when  you  went  down  head  first  ?" 

"Yes — till  my  toes  caught  the  holes " 

"I  don't  understand — didn't  you  put  your  toes  in  the  holes 
first? " 

"I  wanted  to — ^but  it  wouldn't  work.  If  I  had  put  my  toes  in 
and  kneeled  forward  on  the  slope — don't  you  see? — I  was  afraid 
I  should  pitch  forward.    And  then  Alice  and  I  shouldn't  have  been 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  115 

here.  We  should  have  been  bathing."  He  illustrated  the  kneeling 
difficulty  with  his  knuckles.    Peggy  shuddered. 

"But  how  did  you  do  then?" 

"Oh — of  course  I  lay  down  flat  on  my  face  and  wiggled  round 
and  slid  forward — it  was  rather  nasty  till  I  caught  my  toes  in  the 
holes.  If  I  hadn't,  Alice  and  I  shouldn't  have  had  our  teas. 
Eh,  Alice?" 

Peggy  is  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  suppressed  applause  among 
the  coastguard  folk.  "It  was  a  bad  place,"  says  the  young  sailor. 
"If  the  gentleman  and  the  young  lady  had  come  with  a  run,  they'd 
have  overshot  the  ledge  I  was  on,  and  after  that  it  was  straight 
as  a  lead -line  down  to  the  sea " 

"It  was  a  rare  good  job  you  sighted  'em  so  soon  as  you  did, 
Andrew,"  says  one  of  the  other  rescuers.  Then  he  went  on  with 
fuller  explanation  to  Peggy.  "You  see.  Ma'am — it  was  in  this 
wise:  We  knew  what  sort  of  place  it  was  like  to  be  in — ^knowing- 
the  rocks  well.  So  Andrew  he  went  along  the  cliff  face,  and 
Revett  here  and  I  we  took  the  tackle  along  on  the  hill-top.  And 
when  we  sighted  thern,  Andrew  he  got  to  a  ledge  just  under  the 
little  lady  to  make  a  sort  of  stand  if  they  was  to  come  free.  And 
Andrew  he  made  the  line  fast  to  the  little  lady,  and  she  came  up 
easy.  Then  we  were  getting  afraid  there  might  be  a  casualty,  for 
the  gentleman  was  too  stiff  to  move,  and  we  couldn't  spare  one  of 
us  from  above  to  go  down  and  attach  the  line,  and  we  had  to 
send  the  line  down  to  Andrew  and  he  couldn't  make  it  fast  to 
himself  for  want  of  turning  room — well,  yes!"  (this  is  in  answer 
to  a  remark  of  Andrew's) — "you  might  have  come  up  belike!  But 
maybe  it  was  best  to  do  as  you  did." 

"What  did  you  do?"  said  Peggy. 

"Andrew  he  suggested  the  gentleman  might  slack  out  his  toea 
and  drop  down  easy,  and  he'd  catch  him.  And  then  he  made  all 
fast  and  we  got  your  husband  up,  Ma'am — and  if  you  ask  me  I 
say  it's  God's  mercy  you've  got  him  back."  Peggy  felt  this  was 
no  doubt  true  in  the  abstract,  but  that  Andrew  and  the  speaker 
were  entitled  to  acknowledgment.  "What  became  of  Andrew?" 
said  she.    For  she  felt  he  was  left  on  a  rock-ledge. 

"Oh — Andrew?    He  went  back  the  way  he  came." 

Peggy  and  Alice  were  both  very  hazy  by  now — ^but  tea,  which 
seemed  to  abound,  with  all  its  contingencies,  in  that  lighthouse, 
had  a  very  reviving  effect,  and  Peggy  felt  fit  to  start  for  home- 
It  was  time !  Alice  fell  into  a  sound  sleep,  but  this  didn't  matter, 
because  Andrew  came  back  with  them,  to  show  a  short-cut,  and 
carried  her  the  whole  way.     Just  as  they  were  starting  Peggy 


176  ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 

overheard  their  hostess  speaking  to  the  coastguard  who  had  given 
the  narrative  of  the  rescue : 

"Pater !  You're  no  better  than  a  borrn  fool !  Can't  ye  say  with 
your  eyesight  to  discriminate  when  payple  are  swatehearting  ? 
Husband  indade!    Not  yet  awhile  I" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

OF    HOW    BROTHERS    ARE    FOOLS,    AND    HOW    PEGGY    WASN't    EXACTTLY 
ENGAGED.      OF   ALICe's   FAMILY,  BUT   NOT   MUCH 

Charles's  letter  to  Peggy,  with  all  about  the  ghost  in  it,  came 
late  enough  to  cross  hers  with  all  about  the  rescue  in  it.  Neither 
letter  was  quite  bona-fide,  but  each  writer  supposed  the  receiver 
would  read  between  the  lines.  Charles  wrote  in  the  tone  of  one 
who  pooh-poohs  superstition;  yet  knew  that  Peggy  understood 
him,  and  would  see  that  he  was  really  puzzled,  and  did  attach 
some  importance  to  the  story.  Peggy  wrote  a  full  account  of  the 
cliflF  misadventure,  but  did  not  include  a  definite  statement  of  her 
relations  with  Dr.  Johnson.  She  apologised  to  herself  for  doing 
this  by  referring  to  the  fact  that,  after  all,  she  was  not  "engaged" 
to  Master  Rupert.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  girl  being  engaged  to  a 
man  without  her  father  being  consulted — or  for  that  matter,  her 
brother?  It  wasn't  even  certain  that  Rupert  would  ever  be  able 
to  afford  to  marry.  But  of  course  Charley  would  guess  all  about 
it !  Her  letter  had  too  many  hints  of  the  status-quo  in  it  for  him 
not  to  see  what  was  in  the  wind. 

But  Peggy  was  quite  mistaken.  Charles  read  her  letter  through 
several  times,  and  was  greatly  excited  over  the  story  of  the  rescue. 
But  he  quite  missed  seeing  that  the  circumstances  thereof  had 
been  accompanied  by  any  unusual  effervescence  or  incandescence 
of  feeling  in  two  of  the  actors.  Of  course  Peggy  did  not  write, 
"Dr.  Johnson  said  that  he  loved  me  passionately.  Then  he 
knocked  me  down,  and  went  over  the  cliff  with  his  boots  off,"  but 
she  did  infuse  an  amount  of  suggestion  which  would  have  been 
enough  for  any  but  a  brother.  She  wanted  Charley  to  see  and 
understand,  without  having  to  make  a  formal  statement.  That  he 
did  not  may  have  been  partly  due  to  the  prominence  his  mind  gave 
to  Alice  and  her  safety.  In  fact  he  thought  so  much  about  this 
that  when  he  wrote  in  reply  he  forgot  all  about  his  gratitude  to 
Johnson  till  he  came  to  a  postscript.  He  was  eloquent  enough 
as  soon  as  he  reached  the  topic — in  fact  there  was  as  much  post- 
script as  prse-script,  nearly.  But  at  the  beginning  he  was  too  full 
of  his  little  protegee  to  find  a  word  for  his  friend  or  his  sister. 

"Well — I  don't  knowl"  said  he  to  Jeff,  in  the  course  of  a  con- 

177 


178  ALICE-rOE-SHOET 

versation  shortly  after,  "perhaps  there  may  be  something  in  it. 
Only  don't  you  go  and  say  anything  about  it,  old  chap!"  For 
he  had  read  some  portions  of  Peggy's  letter  to  Jeff,  with  blanks 
of  omission,  and  reserves;  and  had  thereby  caused  him  to  close 
one  eye  with  superhuman  insight,  and  say:  "It's  the  Doctor!" 
"What  is?"  asked  Charles. 

"I  say,  Charley!  Draw  it  mild.  Pretendin'  you  don't  know!— 
Happy  couple — Hanover  Square — Holy  Matrimony!  You  mark 
my  words,  it's  the  Doctor!"  And  while  Jeff  added  confirmatory 
nods,  and  new  sagacities  of  expression,  Charles  went  over  his 
letter  again,  thoughtfully.  But,  that  time,  he  only  said  he  was 
sure  there  was  nothing  in  it,  and  one  was  always  suspecting  things. 
Mr.  Jerrythought  said  they  would  see,  and  for  his  part  he  should 
order  a  button-'ole,  to  be  beforehand,  if  he  was  going  to  be  asked 
to  the  wedding.  "Consider  yourself  asked  already,  my  dear  boy !" 
said  Charles;  "but  it  won't  come  off."  For  Charles  had  really 
believed  Peggy  had  meant  all  she  said.  However,  he  made  some 
concession  afterwards,  as  above  recorded. 

"I  shall  have  to  ram  it  home  to  Charley,"  said  Peggy  to  her 
lover,  when  she  had  read  through  her  brother's  letter  to  him.  And 
she  deliberately  concluded  her  next  letter  with,  "Rupert  says  he 
must  be  back  at  the  Hospital  on  Tuesday."  Charley  was  then 
alleviating  the  hardships  of  Bohemianism  by  dining  at  home  to 
keep  his  father  company,  on  the  pretext  that  the  old  boy  must  be 
feeling  lonesome.  That  evening  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  might 
establish  a  character  for  perspicuity  and  experience  in  matters  of 
this  sort  by  broaching  the  topic.  But,  obviously,  the  proper  course 
would  be  to  check  the  impulse  of  responsibility  until  conversation- 
time  proper.  As  soon  as  his  meerschaum  was  lighted  would  be 
time  enough.  Till  then,  he  would  be  content  with  feeling  that 
matters  of  this  sort  were  serious,  and  not  to  be  trifled  with,  and 
did  so  accordingly.  But  his  father  took  all  the  edge  off  his  scheme, 
by  anticipating  his  disclosure : 

"Hey — what  was  it,  Charley  boy?"  said  he,  "what  your  sister 
says?  'We're  not  going  to  marry,  whoever  else  does.  Because 
we're  not  going  to  preach  what  we  don't  practise !'  We're  mighty 
fine  people,  we  are!  And  then  we  go  and  fall  in  love  with  a 
doctor !" — 

Charles's  mortification  at  having  his  beginning  spoiled  was  not 
of  a  serious  sort — but  he  would  console  himself  a  little,  and  show 
his  experience  of  mankind,  especially  womankind.  "That's  just 
like  a  girl,  all  over!"  said  he.  "But  I  suppose  we've  all  been 
expecting  it?" 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  179 

'^We  shall  all  say  we  have,  anyhow!"  said  his  father.  "Never 
mind,  Charley!  I  daresay  we  have."  Charles  felt  transparent. 
His  father  continued:  "What's  the  Doctor? — what's  he  like?" 
Whereon  Charley,  whose  trifling  egotisms  never  peeped  out  of  doors 
except  when  his  generosity,  chivalry,  or  benevolence  were  asleep 
or  at  meals,  broke  into  a  heart-whole  panegyric  of  Johnson.  He 
was  the  finest  fellow  that  ever  breathed,  in  htmself;  the  ablest 
in  medicine  and  surgery;  the  most  self-sacrificing  etcetera  within 
Charles's  experience.  But  he  was  too  honest  to  get  6n  in  his  pro- 
fession— not  half -humbug  enough!  And  his  mother  and  sisters 
were  dependent  on  him,  and  he  would  always  be  as  poor  as  a  rat. 

"Very  good  testimonials,  anyhow,"  said  his  father.  "I've  got 
some  more  in  here."  And  he  produced  letters  written  from  Sheila- 
combe  by  "the  boys" — whom,  by  the  way,  owing  to  the  cumbrous 
extent  of  this  large  family  we  have  not  been  able  to  mention, 
so  far.  They  were  respectively  Robert,  fifteen,  and  Dan,  ten;  and 
Ellen  came  between  them.  They  had  come  to  Shellacombe  on 
the  very  day  of  the  cliff  accident,  with  their  tutor,  Mr.  Capel 
Wright.  All  the  party  had  gone  next  day  to  inspect  the  scene 
of  the  accident,  and  to  hunt  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff  for  Dr.  John- 
son's hat;  and  these  letters  contained  full,  if  obscure,  particulars, 
interlaced  with  panegyric  of  Dr.  Johnson;  and  ending  up  with 
how  he  and  Peggy  got  left  behind  and  cut  off  by  the  tide, 
and  would  have  had  to  wade  through  the  water  and  spoil  their 
things  only  luckily  there  was  a  boat. 

"May  I  see  Peggy's  own  letter?"  said  Charles  when  he  had  run 
his  eye  through  his  younger  brothers'. 

'Teggy's  own  letter?  What  letter?  Oh — Peggy  hasn't  written 
to  me — not  she !  I'm  supposed  to  know  nothing  about  it.  It's  not 
supposed  to  exist,  I  believe.  I've  your  mother's  letter" — which 
he  handed  over  to  his  son. 

Considered  as  a  report  of  what  was  occurring  at  Shellacombe, 
Mrs.  Heath's  letter  was  unsatisfactory.  Considered  as  an  indict- 
ment of  her  husband  for  not  interposing  to  prevent  a  variety  of 
things  which  she  did  not  describe,  it  was  masterly.  "I  am  sure  I 
was  right  in  saying  to  Margaret"  (so  ran  the  letter)  "that  you 
would  not  approve  of  what  is  going  on;  but  that  I  could  say 
nothing.  My  children  must  go  their  own  way.  I  have  no  authority 
with  them.  But  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  Dr.  Johnson  per- 
sonally. He  appears  to  be  without  family  connection  or  means, 
beyond  his  prospects  in  his  profession.  In  addition  to  this  they 
have  only  known  each  other  eight  months.  But  of  course  if  you 
approve  of  it,  I  have  nothing  to  say.    I  am  merely  their  mother. 


180  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

I  have  told  Margaret  that  I  have  no  means  of  knowing  what 
your  wishes  are,  but  that  for  my  own  part  I  cannot  sanction  any- 
thing rash.  And  this  I  have  said,  that  I  think  it  my  duty  to  speak 
plainly  as  a  mother  (however  much  I  may  be  blamed  for  it)  and 
to  say  that  I  am  not  able  to  form  any  opinion  whatever  of  the 
desirability  or  otherwise  of  Dr.  Johnson,  as  I  have  not  been  con- 
sulted; but  that  a  daughter's  first  duty,  before  allowing  herself 
to  form  an  attachment  to  any  man,  is  to  obtain  the  consent  of 
her  parents.  But  that  if  my  husband  thinks  otherwise,  it  is  my 
part  to  defer  to  him "    Charles  stopped  reading. 

"I  think  I  must  have  begun  in  the  middle,"  said  he.  "Isn't 
there  a  sheet  before  this?" 

The  old  gentleman,  evidently  much  amused,  sat  polishing  his 
eyeglasses.  "Not  a  bit  of  it!"  said  he.  "That's  your  mother  all 
over.  The  best  of  living  women,  my  dear  boy;  the  very  best! 
But  she  ain't  by  way  of  being  consecutive.  That's  the  beginning — 
where  you  started." 

"I  don't  think,"  said  Charles,  meditatively,  "that  I  should  like  to 
marry  a  girl  who  asked  her  parents'  leave  to  fall  in  love.  She  would 
be  such  a  very  cool  customer.  I  wonder  if  Mamma  did  so  her- 
self?" 

"I  happen  to  be  able  to  tell  you,"  said  his  father,  who  was  chuck- 
ling to  himself  so  that  his  speech  came  by  instalments.  "Your 
mother  refused  to  introduce  me  to  her  parents  until  she  had  quite 
made  up  her  own  mind.  I  shall  tell  her  I've  told  you  that."  And 
Mr.  Heath  laughed  till  he  was  obliged  to  lay  down  his  cigar,  and 
pull  out  his  silk  handkerchief  to  wipe  his  eyes.  As  soon  as  he  had 
recovered,  he  puffed  again  peacefully.  "The  best  of  living  women, 
my  dear  boy,"  said  he  again,  "only  not  exactly  a  born  logician." 

"Here's  Peggy's  own  letter  to  me,"  said  Charles,  producing  it. 
His  father  settled  down  to  read  it  comfortably,  through  the  newly 
polished  eyeglasses,  while  Charles  sucked  at  his  meerschaum  in 
silence.  He  folded  it  up  when  he  had  finished,  and  handed  it  back. 
"Yes!"  he  said,  "that  seems  to  me  pretty  clear.  I  shall  have  hii 
ofScial  visit  from  the  Doctor.    And  a  long  letter  from  the  Minx.'* 

"What  shall  you  say  to  him?" 

**0h — of  course  I  shall  refer  him  to  your  mother.  The  womea 
settle  all  these  things.  Your  mother  wants  to  put  it  off  on  me, 
that  she  may  wig  me  afterwards.  But  I  won't  be  let  in  to  saying 
anything;  besides,  the  young  people  wouldn't  pay  the  slightest 
attention  if  I  did.  You  can't  control  a  young  couple,  any  more 
than  you  can  a  mad  bull." 

Charles   saw   that  between  the  two   stools   the   young   couple 


ALICE-FOR-SHOKT  181 

wouldn't  fall  to  the  ground,  but  would  go  to  the  altar.  He  relin- 
quished the  role  of  the  far-sighted  man  of  the  world,  which  was 
rather  artificial;  and  he  was  all  the  nicer  as  absolute  truthfulness 
dawned,  with  a  smile,  on  his  countenance.  "I  really  was  telling 
fibs,"  said  he,  "when  I  said  I'd  been  expecting  it.  In  fact,  Jeff 
found  it  out  before  I  did. — Oh  no ! — ^I  didn't  read  the  whole  of  the 
letter  to  JeflP." 

And  when  he  got  back  that  evening  to  the  Bohemian  home,  he 
found  Peggy's  letter  that  Buperted  her  lover  without  scruple,  and 
felt  the  whole  affair  was  settled. 

It  must  be  much  easier  to  write  fiction  than  History — to  put  in 
and  leave  out  incidents  at  pleasure.  There  are  so  many  things 
that  happened  to  the  people  we  are  writing  about  that  have  no  real 
connection  with  what  (in  fiction)  would  be  the  plot,  so  called,  of 
the  story;  but  that  lay  claim  to  short  paragraphs  on  the  score  of 
their  actuality,  and  threaten  the  conscience  of  the  chronicler  if 
omitted.    Ought  he  not  to  record  this,  or  that  ? 

For  instance,  the  incident  of  Mr.  Capel  Wright,  the  tutor.  Peggy 
was  very  sorry  for  it.  She  had  really  been  perfectly  unconscious. 
"There  must  be  some  man — somewhere — that  isn't  in  love  with 
one!"  said  she,  piteously,  when  Ellen  descended  on  her  with  the 
news  that  Mr.  Wright  had  written  to  beg  off  completing  his  engage- 
ment on  the  score  of  a  family  distraction.  "You  know  what  that's 
all  about — with  your  Captain  Bradleys  and  your  Robert  Forrests 
and  your  Mr.  Jerrythoughts" ;  which  last  accusation  provoked  the 
nearest  approach  to  indignation  any  one  so  comic  could  warrant, 
followed  by  the  despairing  expression  of  conviction  recorded  above. 
Ellen  pounced  upon  it  as  so  much  vanity  on  the  part  of  her  sister ; 
and  exhibited  her  to  Europe,  so  to  speak,  as  a  jay  in  peacock's 
feathers — which  was  unfair,  after  the  form  her  reproaches  had 
taken.  What  amount  of  truth  there  was  in  her  suggestion  about 
our  friend  Jeff  we  cannot  say.  He  certainly  was  not  so  sensitive  as 
Mr.  Capel  Wright,  whose  defection  was  universally  laid  at  Peggy's 
door.  She  was  very  unpopular  with  the  boys  after  the  disappear- 
ance of  their  tutor  and  master,  and  had  to  pass  a  life  of  penitence 
and  apology.  Her  mother  discerned  in  the  mmiber  of  Peggy's 
admirers  a  repetition  of  her  own  experience,  but  without  the  same 
excuses.  Her  father  said  they  were  six  of  one  and  half-a-dozen 
of  the  other. 

There  was  a  certain  amount  of  occurrence  also  connected  with 
Alice's  family.  Her  father  the  tailor  had  a  half-brother  named 
Jonathan,  supposed  by  Alice  to  be  called  so  not  only  because  he 


182  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

was  stinted  in  quantity,  but  because  whatever  was  the  natural 
length  of  his  limbs  they  had  not  been  made  in  pairs — one  leg 
being  very  much  shorter  than  the  other,  and  one  arm  perceptibly 
so.  Alice  in  her  own  mind  imagined  that  Jonathan,  when  at 
home  or  in  society,  would  mention  Samuel  as  his  whole  brother. 
She  had  scarcely  seen  him  at  any  time,  and  had  only  one  clear 
memory  of  him— when  he  came  one  day  (before  No.  40)  to  quarrel 
with  her  father,  apparently  about  something  that  was  spoken  of 
by  both  as  "the  document,"  and  understood  by  her  from  its 
sound  to  be  something  each  said  the  other  meant,  while  he  him- 
self meant  something  else.  It  was  a  dock  or  a  dog;  or  both,  if 
they  were  referring  to  different  things.  Alice  inclined  to  the  latter : 
the  first  being  unfamiliar. 

This  Jonathan  Kavanagh  (he  was  the  son  of  Alice's  grand- 
father) was  identified  as  her  uncle  after  the  inquest  as  soon  as  her 
mother  was  fit  to  make  an  intelligible  statement  about  her  belong- 
ings. It  was  not  thought  well  at  first  to  press  her  for  more  than 
particulars  of  the  quarrel.  After  her  death  he  came  by  appoint- 
ment to  see  Charles  at  the  Studio  with  reference  to  Alice.  He 
abandoned  his  claim  to  guardianship  with  alacrity.  Trade,  he 
said,  was  very  bad — hadn't  ever  been  so  bad  to  his  knowledge.  He 
wasn't  called  on  to  take  another  inmate.  He  might  have  done 
otherwise  had  trade  been  good. 

"He's  an  undertaker,  it  seems,"  said  Charles  to  Peggy,  report- 
ing the  visit.  "If  people  would  die  a  little  faster,  he  would  talk 
to  Mrs.  Jonathan,  and  see  what  could  be  done.  But  with  this  ruis  - 
ous  epidemic  of  immortality  going  on,  where  are  you  ?" 

"I  suppose,"  said  Peggy,  "there  are  too  many  undertakers,  just 
as  there  are  too  many  everything  elses."  Here  followed  a  slight 
spasm  of  what  has  been  called  Population-on-the-Brain ;  but  her 
immediate  interest  in  Alice  quieted  it. 

"Oh  no!"  replied  Charles,  "the  human  race  is  boycotting  the 
undertakers  out  of  spite.  Only  it  must  have  been  going  on  a 
long  time.  They  said  at  the  shop  that  their  Mr.  Abraham  had 
called  on  this  man  to  see  if  he  would  do  anything  for  his  half- 
brethren — a  long  time  ago — and  he  excused  himself  in  the  same 
way."  This  was  at  the  clothier's  in  Oxford  Street,  where  it  may 
be  remembered  Charles  went  to  get  information  about  the 
Kavanaghs. 

"I  suppose,"  Peggy  then  said,  "that  if  this  man,  or  any  other 
relations  that  can  be  found,  refuse  to  do  anything  for  the  child, 
they  will  forego  all  claim  upon  her?" 

"They  could  have  no  real  claim,  as  a  matter  of  right  and  wron^ 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  183 

—but  of  course  Law  wouldn't  bother  about  that.  We  had  better  let 
it  alone.    They  won't  trouble  us!" 

So  after  calling  at  Hyde  Park  Gardens  at  Charles's  suggestion 
"to  satisfy  himself"  that  Alice  was  in  good  hands,  and  at  the  sug- 
gestion of  his  inner  soul  that  he  might  leave  a  card  and  perhaps 
ultimately  bury  the  family,  Mr.  Jonathan  Kavanagh  retired  to 
devote  himseK  to  the  relatives  of  established  corpses,  and  to  hope 
that  they  would  soon  follow  the  good  example  set  by  the  latter. 
After  this  Alice's  communications  with  her  scarcely  known  family 
were  of  the  slightest.  The  brother  at  the  Peckham  clothier's  cer- 
tainly appeared,  but  it  was  to  point  out  that  he  was  shortly  going 
to  set  up  for  himself  and  that  it  wouldn't  be  "fair  upon  him" 
that  Alice  should  "stand  in  his  way."  Charles  extinguished  him 
rapidly,  to  his  great  relief,  as  a  selfish  young  beggar.  The  dry- 
salter  of  Rotherhithe  came  also;  he  rested  his  inability  to  contrib- 
ute to  his  sister's  support  on  the  fact  that  he  was  only  in  the  yard. 
Whereas  had  he  been  in  the  Orfice  it  would  have  been  another  pair 
of  shoes.  "He  didn't  give  me  the  idea,"  said  Charles,  "that  dry- 
salting  stimulated  the  understanding.  I  endeavoured  to  find  from 
him  what  the  difference  was  between  drysalting  and  wetsalting,  and 
he  repeated  that  he  was  only  in  the  yard,  but  they  could  tell  me 
in  the  Orfice.  So  neither  of  us  having  any  more  to  say,  we  parted 
on  good  terms." 

The  cheesemonger  never  put  in  an  appearance.  This  was  so 
much  the  better!  He  was  only  twelve  years  old,  and  would  have 
excited  commiseration,  and  called  for  succour.  The  only  one 
Alice  seemed  to  entertain  as  real  flesh  and  blood  was  a  young 
sailor,  the  next  in  age  to  the  drysalter,  who  was  nineteen;  he  was 
a  hero  in  her  eyes,  who  having  departed  on  his  last  voyage  for 
Singapore  was  identified  in  her  mind  with  that  port,  which  was 
consequently  rather  laid  claim  to  as  an  appanage  of  her  family 
when  it  accrued  under  Miss  Petherington.  She  felt  quite  at 
home,  did  Alice,  when  Singapore  appeared  as  Geography;  she 
having  only  known  of  it  as  a  real  place  people's  brothers  could 
go  to. 

That  exhausts  all  that  came  to  light  about  Alice's  belongings. 
Charles's  impression  was  that  they  generally  felt  that  Alice  was 
quite  too  small  to  bother  about.  They  had  other  fish  to  fry,  and  she 
was  a  tittlebat.  Also  they  were  not  going  to  give  the  parties  that 
had  took  her  up  any  excuse  for  putting  her  down.  They  kept  out 
of  the  way.  The  eldest  brother  laid  claim  to  the  scraps  of  furni- 
ture, and  Charles  purchased  of  him  the  table  in  which  he  and 
Peggy  had  found  the  pictures  of  the  young  nobleman.    It  was  a 


184  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

good  substantial  table  with  drawers,  and  would  be  useful  in  the 
Studio. 

Well!  All  these  little  matters,  or  nearly  all,  belong  to  the  class 
of  incident  that  are  not  necessary  to  the  story,  but  that  seem  to 
claim  a  passing  word.  The  claim  being  now  satisfied,  the  story 
maj'  go  on  from  where  we  left  it. 


CHAPTEE  XVn 

BOTHER  LAVINIA  STRAKER !  OF  MISS  THISELTOn's  PROFILE.  HOW 
CHARLES  HAD  BETTER  GO  TO  SHELLACOMBE.  OF  REGENTS  PARK  AND 
A  GIRL  HE  SAW  THERE 

When  Charles,  returning  to  his  Studio  that  night  (or  morning, 
for  it  was  well  past  midnight),  read  that  conclusive  letter  of  his 
sister's,  he  experienced  a  sense  of  laceration  which  may  be  familiar 
to  many  who  have  been  in  like  case.  Quite  suddenly,  and  just  as 
though  it  was  all  a  matter  of  course,  a  very  dear  sister  is  to  be 
taken  from  us.  She  was  with  us  in  the  nursery — has  been  with 
us  ever  since;  she  has  shared  all  the  burdens,  all  the  sorrows,  all 
the  joys,  of  our  babyhood  and  boyhood;  and  if  the  chances  of  the 
current  of  life  have  drifted  us  more  apart  as  boyhood  changed  to 
manhood,  and  the  girl  became  a  woman,  still  we  have  floated  down 
in  midstream  together  and  never  quite  lost  touch.  And  then^  all 
in  a  moment,  the  old  epoch  has  ended  and  a  new  one  has  begun. 
The  foot  of  a  stranger  is  in  the  home  of  our  fathers.  We  may 
love  him,  admire  and  respect  him :  it  does  not  matter !  This  was  a 
little  sacred  corner — a  side  chapel  in  the  Temple  of  Life,  and  was 
so  bespoken  by  us  for  a  private  refuge,  a  secure  haven  from  storm 
and  wreck,  that  the  incoming  of  any  other  has  little  less  than  the 
force  of  an  eviction  to  ourselves.  We  need  not  wonder  that 
Charles  felt  raw  and  rebellious,  as  he  went  to  bed ;  nor  that  he  paid 
very  little  attention  to  a  letter  containing  a  pathetic  request  for 
ten  pounds.  "7  know,"  said  he,  partly  interpolating,  partly  reading, 
the  actual  text,  "it's  going  to  save  the  writer  and  her  widowed 
mother  from  an  execution  at  the  hands  of  a  cruel  creditor,  whose 
demand  for  twenty-seven  pounds  thirteen  and  sixpence  has  been 
scraped  together,  all  but  nine  pounds  nineteen  and  threepence,  by 
hard  work  and  strict  economy — but  which  has  to  be  satisfied  with- 
out fail  by  the  day  after  to-morrow  at  mid-day.  Just  the  usual 
thing!  Bother  Lavinia  Straker!"  said  he.  "I  know  no  Lavinia 
Straker,"  that  being  the  signature  of  the  applicant. 

Next  morning  he  felt  chilly  and  grown  old.  He  said  to  him- 
self (probably  with  truth)  that  if  he  had  not  been  expecting  a 
Model  to  sit  for  the  head  of  Regan  in  his  picture  of  Lear  and 

185 


186  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

Cordelia,  he  would  certainly  have  "chucked"  work,  and  gone  for 
a  walk  to  Hampstead  Heath.  It  was  so  jolly  this  time  of  year  with 
the  leaves  drifting  about  and  nobody  in  town. 

Charles  was  really  fonder  of  dreaming  than  action.  His  mind 
was  always  at  work,  but  the  vividness  with  which  images  presented 
themselves  to  him  was  misleading ;  and  he — poor  fellow ! — had  had 
the  misfortune  to  construct  a  vivid  image  of  himself  as  an 
Artist,  which  it  was  quite  beyond  his  powers  to  interpret  into 
action.  His  guardian  Angel  was  not  on  the  alert,  or  had  lost 
touch  with  him  for  a  moment,  when  he  selected  his  profession. 
He  had  deceived  others,  as  well  as  himself.  For  though  he 
was  defective  in  mechanical  aptitude,  he  had,  as  a  boy,  sufficient 
to  make  drawings  which  showed  individuality  and  power  in  the 
mind  of  their  author  of  a  certain  sort.  Was  it  any  wonder 
that  his  family  and  his  friends  thought  they  could  foresee  a  future 
for  him  in  Art?  If  only  he  could  acquire  the  mere  technical 
facility — anybody  can  do  that  with  perseverance!  What  makes 
the  Artist  par  excellence  is  not  vulgar  accuracy  of  eye  and  dex- 
terity of  hand;  it  is  the  mind  that  lies  behind  vision  and  manipu- 
lation. These  latter  can  be  trained.  But  the  Promethean  fire,  or 
Inspiration,  or  whatever  you  like  to  call  it,  that  distinguishes 
Phidias  from  Fiddlesticks  (we  know  we  are  safe  in  that  selection 
of  a  name — there  is  no  such  sculptor) — this  quality  is  inborn;  and 
when  you  suspect  its  existence  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to 
develop  its  indispensable  concomitants,  and  give  it  a  chance  to 
assert  itself. 

Very  much  the  best!  But  do  you  do  it  by  courses  of  chalk 
drawing  from  the  Antique  (a  singular  name  for  all  that  is,  in 
plaster)  with  a  plumb-bob  to  show  you  what  is  exactly  above  what, 
and  a  conviction  that  if  a  drawing  cannot  be  saved  exactly  by  bread 
alone,  it  can,  at  any  rate,  by  bread  (not  too  new)  in  combination 
with  stippling?  Or  will  the  end  be  attained  by  study  in  a  School, 
where  there  are  as  many  different  systems  as  there  are  teachers, 
of  which  systems  the  total,  minus  one,  must  needs  be  misleading 
systems?  We  are  only  asking  these  questions  apropos  of  the  ways 
in  which  we  know  Charles  studied  the  Fine  Arts — of  the  better 
systems  that  have  superseded  them  we  know  nothing  whatever.  All 
our  data  are  of  bygone  ages,  and  no  doubt  we  should  be  pleasantly 
surprised  if  we  could  see  and  know  what  is  being  done  in  the  Arts, 
nowadays. 

If  Charles  could  have  had  half-a-dozen  lessons  in  the  use  of 
colour  from — whom  shall  we  say  ? — Quentin  Matsys  will  do  as  well 
as  another — so  as  to  grasp  the  necessity  for  care  and  method — for 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  187 

scheming  each  day's  work  as  the  precursor  of  the  next,  he  might 
at  least  have  learned  how  to  learn,  if  the  Antwerp  blacksmith 
hadn't  been  able  to  give  him  another  six  lessons.  But  his  course 
of  study  contained  nothing  that  forced  the  needs  of  his  work 
upon  him,  and  it  was  not  in  him  to  find  them  out  for  himself,  as 
great  artists  whose  studentship  was  half-a-century  ago  had  to  do. 
So  he  never  really  learned  his  trade  at  all!  He  revelled  in  the 
contemplation  of  the  great  works  he  was  going  to  paint,  and  the 
ordering  of  unlimited  materials  from  fascinating  Artists'  Colour 
Shops ;  and  he  spanged  and  slammed  about  royally  with  the  colours, 
used  anyhow,  when  he  got  them.  But  he  never  organised  anything, 
nor  perceived  that  he  was  only  making  preliminary  messes  on 
canvas  with  a  view  to  converting  them  to  something  else,  later  on. 

He  had,  ready  for  total  modification,  a  preliminary  mess  of  this 
sort  in  the  head  of  Regan  in  the  picture  of  Lear  and  Cordelia 
above  mentioned;  and  on  this  morning,  when  he  felt  so  chilly  and 
grown  old,  he  was  expecting  a  certain  Miss  Thiselton  to  come  and 
be  painted  as  Regan.  Miss  Thiselton  was  that  very  common  occur- 
rence— a  young  woman  in  reduced  circumstances,  who  would  be 
thankful  for  sittings  if  it  was  quite  clearly  understood  that  she 
wasn't  a  Model.  She  drew  a  sharp  line  at  her  neck  and  wrists  and 
required  a  certificate  of  character  from  Artists  before  she  sat  for 
them. 

Real  Models  are  prone  to  begin  talking  in  an  imbecile  way  the 
moment  they  enter  the  Studio,  and  continue  until  they  depart. 
Miss  Thiselton,  not  being  a  real  Model,  held  her  tongue  at  first. 
So  an  opportunity  is  given  of  describing  her  when  her  face  is  at 
rest,  which  is  her  best  aspect.  As  she  is  sitting  for  Regan,  the 
reader  may  like  to  form  a  judgment  of  Charles's  insight  into 
Shakespeare. 

You  know  those  heads  that  charm  and  fascinate  when  the  face  is 
turned  full  on,  and  disappoint  when  the  side-views  are  revealed 
later?  And  also  those  whose  profiles  are  full  of  glorious  promise, 
with  O  such  a  dreary  come-down  to  follow  when  you  get  at  both 
eyes  at  once  ?  It  would  be  unfair  to  place  Miss  Thiselton's  in  the 
latter  class,  without  reserves.  But  though  she  owned  two  beautiful 
side-faces,  one  on  either  side,  they  marred  her  full  face,  when 
submitted  to  the  same  spectator,  by  their  difference  of  opinion 
about  what  it  was  to  be.  She  did  not  squint — absit  omen! — but 
both  her  fine  eyes  could  hardly  rest  upon  your  face  at  once,  as  long 
as  she  continued  a  mere  acquaintance.  Focus  forbade  it.  The 
interesting  ripple  on  her  interesting  hair  consoled  one  for  this 
defect,  and  in  fact  was  one  of  Miss  Thiselton's  chief  claims  to 


188  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

beauty — and  was  always  busy  correcting  mistaken  impressions.  It 
was  helped  by  a  particularly  pretty  pair  of  soft  white  hands  with 
filbert  nails,  and  an  implication  of  a  very  good  trying-on  figure 
for  a  mantle  department. 

Regan  was  sticking  her  chin  out  apparently,  at  the  moment 
chosen  by  the  artist.  Miss  Thiselton  therefore  is  doing  so  too, 
about  half-an-hour  after  her  arrival,  Charles  having  taken  all  that 
time  mixing  up  flesh-tints;  which  he  won't  be  able  to  use,  because 
he  can't  use  any  tints  at  all ;  but  which  no  artist  could  possibly  use, 
except  on  the  hypothesis  that  Correggio  (for  instance)  couldn't  see. 
We  all  know  how  our  chins  get  the  best  of  us  and  protrude  while 
the  doctor  is  feeling  our  pulse,  in  anticipation  of  the  word  of  com- 
mand to  put  our  tongues  out.  Even  so  Regan,  as  interpreted. 
But  in  order  to  do  absolute  justice  to  the  conception,  and  achieve 
the  niceties  of  a  close  rendering,  it  is  necessary  that  Regan  should 
stand  up.  It  is  not  clear  why,  for  the  artist  appears  to  be  work- 
ing quite  independently  of  the  model;  and,  to  our  thinking,  the 
girl  might  just  as  well  have  sat  down.  But  she  didn't,  and  the 
consequence  was — an  occurrence  not  at  all  infrequent  under  the 
circumstances — that  she  became  dizzy  and  ultimately  pitched  head- 
long down  off  the  "throne"  she  was  standing  on.  Charles  was  just 
in  time  to  catch  her,  and  save  her  from  a  bad  fall.  To  his  great 
embarrassment,  instead  of  pulling  herself  together,  and  saying 
she  would  be  all  right  directly  as  a  sensible  young  person  would 
have  done,  she  remained  on  his  hands;  either  really  inanimate,  or 
pretending  to  be  so  for  some  purpose  best  known  to  herself.  Our 
own  opinion  is  that  there  is  no  necessity  to  suppose  the  latter. 
The  faint  may  have  been  genuine  enough.  No  suspicion  to  the 
contrary  crossed  Charles's  mind,  but  he  was  mightily  embarrassed. 
He  didn't  understand  this  sort  of  thing  at  all,  and  was  in  two 
minds  whether  he  should  not  summon  help.  There  were  no  women 
within  call  except  the  two  lady-artists  upstairs,  and  somehow  he 
didn't  think  he  should  improve  matters  by  going  to  them.  He  was 
saved  from  further  speculation  by  the  young  woman  coming  to  her 
senses.  She  would  be  all  right  soon  if  she  sat  still  and  rested  for 
a  few  minutes.  Charles  would  have  been  much  better  satisfied 
that  she  should  depart,  and  suggested  a  cab  home.  But  he  could 
not  say  he  couldn't  work,  if  she  felt  able  to  resume  sitting;  and 
he  could  do  no  less  than  be  amiable,  under  the  circumstances.  So 
he  lit  a  pipe  and  went  on  with  Regan,  unassisted  by  Nature. 
Nature  sat  on  and  rested,  but  this  permitted  much  more  causeris 
intime  than  is  possible  when  Nature's  face  has  to  keep  still  or 
some  terrible   mishap,   undefined,  will  occur   in   the   subtle   and 


ALICE-FOK-SHOKT  189 

delicate  operations  of  the  canvas.  Charles  felt  that  if  speech  was 
only  silver  in  this  case,  silence  was  copper,  and  decided  on  general 
conversation,  with  a  sort  of  flavour  in  it  of  his  being  quite  accus- 
tomed to  this  sort  of  thing  and  being,  as  it  were,  a  married  man 
with  several  grown-up  daughters. 

"Getting  right  again.  Miss  Thiselton?  That's  right!  Now  you 
had  much  better  take  my  word  for  it,  and  have  a  little  brandy  in 
that  cold  water.  Do  try  it!"  This  with  an  affectation  of  great 
responsibility  about  something  in  Regan's  nose,  and  without  look- 
ing round  to  see  if  Nature  would  take  the  brandy.  Charles  hon- 
estly wished  his  relations  with  his  female  Models  to  remain  im- 
personal; as  impersonal  at  any  rate  as  they  would  permit.  He 
wasn't  at  all  indigenous  in  Bohemia,  and  was  much  less  popular 
with  them  than  his  friend  upstairs. 

"Oh  no!"  replied  Nature,  "do  please  take  it  away,  Mr.  Heath. 
It  makes  me  ill  again  only  to  look  at  it !  Are  you  a  good  sailor  ?" 
Charles  removed  the  brandy-bottle  without  replying  to  the  ques- 
tion; but  presently  said,  as  though  it  had  taken  a  long  time  to 
reach  him — "No,  very  bad — that  is,  pretty  good!  I  suppose  the 
brandy  made  you  think  of  that?" — Because  his  not  having  an- 
swered made  him  seem  to  himself  needlessly  distant,  almost  uncivil. 
After  all,  there  was  a  half-way  between  being  grumpy  with  Nature, 
without  which  your  work  lacked  an  indescribable  something,  and 
taking  it  to  Cremorne  or  Rosherville. 

"I  did  think  of  the  Channel  boat,"  said  Miss  Thiselton.  But 
she  was  not  a  real  professional  Model;  so  she  seized  the  occasion 
for  a  certain  amount  of  reserve,  and  remained  silent  accordingly. 
The  effect  of  this  on  Charles  was  that  he  decided  that  she  was 
quite  safe  to  be  at  ease  with,  and  that  he  had  been  a  donkey  for 
being  so  stiff.  He  would  talk  a  little.  What  should  he  talk  about  ? 
Suppose  he  tried  the  acquaintance  who  had  sent  this  Miss  Thisel- 
ton to  him.  There  could  be  no  pitfalls  and  snares  there.  He  was 
a  man  he  had  met  once  at  an  Arts  Club  he  had  joined  some  time 
since,  of  whom  he  knew  as  little  as  the  circumstances  allowed. 

"What  sort  of  work  does  Mr.  Galsworthy  do?"  He  asked  it  in 
the  tone  of  one  who  has  selected  a  topic  of  conversation — ^you 
know  how  one  speaks  when  one  has  selected  a  topic? 

"Do  you  mean  Mr.  Calthorpe  ?" 

"Ah — to  be  sure — Calthorpe!  What  sort  of  pictures  does  he 
paint?" 

"Oh  dear !  Poor  Mr.  Calthorpe !"  This  with  a  smile  of  commis- 
eration. Charles  immediately  felt  ashamed  of  not  having  known 
Calthorpe  was  a  duffer,  and  threw  a  slight  claim  to  hav^ing  really 


190  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

concealed  that  knowledge  into  an  "ah!"  of  assent.  The  young 
lady  accepted  this  as  valid,  and  proceeded  to  intensify  disparage- 
ment of  Mr.  Calthorpe's  pictures  by  concessions  in  the  way  of  con- 
solation. The  pictures  couldn't  be  helped ;  but  we  could  exaggerate 
personal  testimonials,  as  a  set-off. 

"I  really  ought  not  to  say  so  though;  he's  been  so  very  kind  to 
me.    He  really  is  the  kindest  hearted  man,  Mr.  Heath " 

"No  doubt  he  isn't." 

"I  beg  your  pardon?" 

"I  mean  he  is — of  course  he  is!  I  used  the  wrong  word." 
Charles  wasn't  paying  attention. 

"Yes — ^he's  been  very  kind  to  me.  And  of  course  I  should  be 
sitting  for  him  still,  but " 

Charles  wasn't  on  the  alert.  He  ought  to  have  broken  in  and 
asked  if  Nature  felt  equal  to  standing  up  with  its  chin  out  again. 
Miss  Thiselton,  not  being  opposed,  went  on  after  a  slight  hesi- 
tation :  "But  my  mother  wished  me  not  to  sit  for  him  any  more — 
I  daresay  it  was  all  right!"  She  made  a  pretence  of  clearing 
away  this  section  of  the  conversation  to  make  room  for  some- 
thing entirely  new. 

"Do  you  know  Mrs.  Calthorpe,  Mr.  Heath  ?" 

"Not  the  least !  Never  seen  her !"  He  was  so  absent,  or  Regan 
so  engrossing,  that  he  quite  failed  to  see  that  the  clearing  up 
movement  had  not  been  bona-fide.     It  wasn't! 

"Ah — then  you  wouldn't  know — of  course  you  wouldn't^ ?" 

"Know  what?" 

"I  oughtn't  to  ask.  Never  mind !"  It  was  obvious  at  this  point 
that  pressure  for  information  ought  to  follow ;  otherwise  rela- 
tions might  become  strained.  Charles  acquiesced,  but  without 
interest. 

"Oh— but  I  do  mind!    What  wouldn't  I  know?" 

"I  know  I  may  trust  you  not  to  repeat  anything  I  say.  Whether 
Mrs.  Calthorpe  is — is  considered — is  at  all  a  jealous  person?" — 

Let  no  male  human  creature — even  though  he  be  an  Arch- 
bishop ! — imagine  he  can  restrain  a  live  female  Model  who  has 
made  up  her  mind  to  talk  about  ladies  and  gentlemen..  Further, 
let  him  not  suppose  that  when  once  she  has  succeeded  in  giving 
the  conversation  a  foothold  in  the  departments  of  human  life  that 
range  from  Arcadia  to  the  Divorce  Court,  he  or  any  one  else  will 
succeed  in  preventing  her  from  bringing  herself  in,  either  as  part 
of  the  cast  or  as  an  example  to  her  species.  Miss  Thiselton  had 
made  up  her  mind  that  she  wasn't  going  to  talk  Theology  (suppose 
we  put  it  that  way),  and  she  wasn't  going  to  let  Charles  off. 


ALIGE-FOR-SHORT  191 

"Do  you  think  she's  jealous,  Mr.  Heath?"  she  repeated.  '*But 
you  don't  know  her,  of  course " 

"How  should  I  know  anything  about  her?  I've  only  seen  him 
at  the  Club." 

"I  wish  you  had  seen  her,  because  you  could  have  told  me,  and  I 
should  have  trusted  you."  This  placed  the  speaker — as  one  of  the 
lonely  and  defenceless,  who  in  a  world  of  treachery  had  lighted  on 
a  sterling  soul  akin  to  her  own — in  the  ranks  of  friendship  at 
least.  Whereas  Charles  had  bargained  only  for  the  privilege  of 
contemplating  a  good-looking  head,  for  purely  technical  purposes, 
at  the  rate  of  one  shilling  per  hour,  and  refreshments  if  its  owner 
sat  on  into  the  afternoon. 

"I'm  a  very  bad  judge  of  character,"  said  he,  endeavouring  to 
extricate  himself. 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?  But  you  could  have  told  me  if  it  was 
true  about  the  likeness " 

"What  likeness?" 

"The  likeness  to  me.    Mr.  Calthorpe  said  his  wife  was  an  ugly 

likeness  of  me!     At  least,  the  profile  was "     Charles  looked 

round  to  see  what  Mrs.  Calthorpe  was  like.  Verdict,  he  should 
draw  Miss  Thiselton's  side-face  as  soon  as  he  had  got  rid  of  Regan. 
It  really  was  lovely,  now  he  came  to  look  at  it.  You  didn't  see  the 
slight  defect  in  the  eyes  in  this  view,  and  the  large  dropped  eye- 
lid was  very  good,  with  just  a  trace  of  blue  vein  visible.  It  is  the 
artist's  misfortune  that  however  much  pains  he  takes  to  fix  up  his 
model.  Nature  (when  it  gets  down  to  rest)  always  contrives  to 
evolve  something  better.  For  the  moir.cnt,  Charles  judged  it 
safest  to  get  Nature  re-established  as  Regan,  because  he  was  be- 
coming slowly  conscious  that  Miss  Thiselton,  anchored  in  an  arm- 
chair, and  giving  way  to  a  form  of  tittle-tattle  uncongenial  to  him, 
was  not  business.  However,  Regan  did  not  last  very  long,  turn- 
ing visibly  blue  again  after  standing  for  a  few  minutes.  "Per- 
haps it  would  be  better  not  to  try  any  longer,"  said  she.    "I  am  so 

very  sorry,  Mr.  Heath,  but  I  didn't  sleep  last  night "     Charles 

said  never  mind — come  again  on  Thursday.  Or  on  Friday,  same 
time?  Yes,  she  could  come  on  Friday,  unless — "Unless  what?" 
asked  Charles.    Unless  nothing,  apparently. 

Just  as  Miss  Thiselton  was  on  the  point  of  withdrawing  finally, 
she  turned  round  to  Charles  unexpectedly — "I  hope  you  are  not 
angry  with  me  about  that  letter,"  she  said.  Charles  was  completely 
puzzled — a  little  afraid  the  young  woman's  head  was  unsound. 
"What  letter?"  he  asked. 

"A  letter  I  wrote  asking  you  to  lend  me  money.    I  am  so  ashamed 


192  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

and  sorry  now.  I  know  I  ought  not  to  have  done  it.  But  you  are 
80  kind " 

"I  have  never  had  any  letter." — Charles  pulled  out  one  or  two 
papers  from  his  pocket,  to  see  if  he  had  overlooked  or  absorbed 
something  without  knowing  it.  But  there  was  nothing,  to  all  seem- 
ing. Miss  Thiselton,  however,  pointed,  and  said,  "That  one  there — 
there  it  is !" 

"But  this  isn't  you,  Miss  Thiselton.  This  is — ^what's  her  name  ? — 
Lavinia  Straker.    You're  not  Lavinia  Straker " 

"Oh  dear — ^how  stupid  of  me!  I  signed  my  own  name,  and  I 
ought  to  have  signed  the  name  you  know  me  by.  Do  you  know, 
Mr.  Heath,  I  quite  lost  my  head  yesterday!  You  would  forgive 
me  if  you  knew — I  think  I  have  not  got  quite  right  yet — talking 
as  I  did  just  now  about  that  Mrs.  Calthorpe.  But  you  do  forgive 
me?"    This  as  if  that  was  the  really  important  point. 

Charles's  recent  dose  of  this  young  woman's  profile  and  trans- 
parent eyelid  just  stopped  his  saying  to  himself  that  she  was  an 
outsider  of  his  soul,  and  he  really  hadn't  leisure  either  for  blame 
or  forgiveness.  They  certainly  could  not  have  come  into  court 
earlier,  even  after  the  young  lady  had  pitched  herself  into  his 
arms  off  the  throne.  For  though  no  doubt  what  we  have  heard 
from  a  heroine  of  a  stage  love-story  is  true,  that  if  you  can  once 
make  "him"  carry  you  across  the  street,  or  upstairs  or  down,  or 
sustain  you  when  insensible — it  will  give  you  an  immense  advan- 
tage later  in  engaging  his  affections,  even  if  they  are  not  entangled 
right  off:  though  we  quite  admit  this,  there  is  a  difference  when 
it's  elbows — pardon  our  homely  way  of  putting  it !  We  mean  that 
Charles's  chief  experience  of  the  tumble  was  a  severe  elbow-thrust 
on  the  stiff-neck  place  in  his  shoulder,  and  it  was  still  hurting  him. 
It  exonerated  its  inflictor,  perhaps,  from  any  suspicion  of  guile — 
but  it  also  may  have  left  him  rather  impatient  of  either  blame  or 
forgiveness,  as  applied  to  Miss  Thiselton.  The  recipe  of  the 
foregoing  actress  got  no  chance  of  working.  But  the  profile  and 
the  drooping  eyelid  secured  an  expression  of  readiness  to  forgive, 
which  was  distinctly  an  advance  on  what  might  have  been,  "Oh — 
bother !"    Besides  it  made  Charles  ask  what  the  trouble  was. 

It  was  a  brother — a  younger  brother,  who  had  run  into  debt 
to  save  a  friend.  He  was  quite  young — only  just  twenty-one — and 
she  and  her  mother  had  just  managed  to  clear  the  poor  boy,  and 
get  him  out  of  his  scrape.  But  then  a  tenant,  who  occupied  a 
small  freehold  house  belonging  to  her  mother,  had  disappeared  with 
his  furniture,  leaving  rent  owing;  and  the  house  was  mortgaged, 
and  the  interest  was  due  to-morrow,  and  it  was  no  use  asking 


ALICE-FOK-SHOKT  193 

for  an  extension,  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  Charles  felt  it  was  all  as 
usual,  even  to  the  fact  that  if  he  would  lend  Miss  Thiselton,  or 
Straker,  ten  pounds  its  repayment  could  be  assured  by  securities 
almost  too  good  to  be  true  in  an  imperfect  world  like  ours.  He 
did  not  allow  to  himself  that  he  was  conscious  the  profile  and  the 
eyelid  had  anything  to  do  with  his  consenting  to  advance  the 
money,  which  he  was  just  able  to  do.  He  considered  himself  an 
independent  agent — rather  too  good-natured  perhaps !  He  wouldn't 
say  anything  to  the  Governor  or  anybody  else  about  it  though. 
He  would  send  Miss  Straker  the  money  in  the  course  of  the  after- 
noon, or  to-morrow  morning  by  first  post.  She  took  her  departure, 
and  after  lunch  he  put  two  five-pound  notes  in  an  envelope  and 
sent  them  off  by  post  to  her,  registered. 

Our  own  opinion  is  that  it  would  have  been  well  for  Charles, 
at  this  moment  in  his  life,  to  go  away  at  once  to  Peggy  at  Sheila- 
combe.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  feeling  we  have  referred  to  about 
his  sister,  and  the  change  this  love  affair  of  hers  was  sure  to  make 
in  their  lives,  he  would  certainly  have  done  so.  He  would  proba- 
bly have  very  soon  forgotten  the  profile  and  the  eyelid;  or  Peggy 
would  have  suspected  them,  and  then  her  quick  healthy  insight, 
and  her  knowledge  of  her  brother,  would  have  pushed  them  away. 
But  Charles  felt  certain  (although  he  had  no  official  informa- 
tion as  yet)  that  things  would  change,  and  would  never  be  so  jolly 
again  as  they  had  been.  He  was  glad  it  was  Johnson,  certainly; 
but  then,  wasn't  he  sorry  it  was  anybody?  No!  he  wouldn't  go 
to  Shellacombe.  He  would  go  and  walk  about  Regents  Park. 
Hampstead  was  too  far  off  now,  and  he  might  meet  somebody  in 
Kensington  Gardens.  He  felt  internally  scarified,  and  disposed 
to  be  sentimental.  He  was  in  an  unsafe  mood  to  be  by  himself, 
and  when  he  went  out  for  his  walk  he  was  mysteriously  accom- 
panied by  a  profile  and  an  eyelid,  which  were  much  too  clever  to 
force  themselves  on  his  notice,  and  floated  away,  like  musoce 
volitantes  in  the  eye,  when  an  attempt  was  made  to  pursue  and 
convict  them.  He  was  under  the  impression  that  his  mind  was 
full  of  his  sister  and  Johnson,  and  he  was  quite  mistaken.  It 
would  have  been  well  for  him  that  he  should  have  had  Jeff  in  to 
tea,  as  usual,  but  ill-luck  would  have  it  that  that  artist  had  gone 
away  to  paint  a  portrait.  It  was  in  the  nature  of  things  that  every- 
thing Jeff  did  should  have  something  laughable  about  it,  and  in 
this  case  it  was  that  he  had  gone  to  paint  his  aunt's  portrait  at 
Upper  Clapton.  It  must  have  been  laughable,  or  Charles  wouldn't 
have  laughed  when  he  told  a  friend  who  was  going  to  call  on  Jeff 
(with  a  remarkable  soup-ladle  he  had  picked  up  for  an  old  song) 


194  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

about  the  reason  he  wouldn't  find  him  upstairs,  and  the  friend 
(who  was  Mr.  Kerr-Kerr,  if  you  wish  to  know)  wouldn't  have 
laughed  back.  It  made  them  very  cheerful  that  Jeff  should  have 
gone  to  Upper  Clapton  to  paint  his  aunt.  But  Charles's  melancholy 
came  back  on  him,  in  company  with  the  profile  and  eyelid,  as  soon 
as  Mr.  Kerr-Kerr  departed,  leaving  the  precious  soup-ladle  in  his 
charge;  and  Charles  took  them  all  three,  melancholy,  profile,  and 
eyelid,  to  Regents  Park  with  him;  and  stood  on  the  suspension 
bridge  over  the  Canal  and  nursed  the  first,  never  having  the  can- 
dour to  acknowledge  the  other  two. 

It  contributed  to  the  melancholy  and  fostered  it  to  dream  of  the 
days  when  those  May  trees  over  there  were  in  Marylebone  Fields, 
and  the  real  Dr.  Johnson  and  Oliver  Goldsmith  used  to  walk  out 
and  about  among  them,  with  Bozzy,  perhaps,  taking  notes,  either 
mentally  or  graphically.  Those  were  the  days,  or  none  so  long 
after,  of  No.  40  in  its  prime;  of  games  of  quadrille  or  faro,  till 
near  on  to  daylight,  in  the  Studio  Charles  occupied;  of  orgies  of 
gormandising  and  drink  in  the  ground-floor  front  with  the  col- 
umned recess  at  one  end  for  the  buffet;  of  stately  minuets  and 
gavottes  in  the  old  ballroom  the  picture-dealer  had  defiled.  Those 
were  the  days  of  that  foul  murder-story  we  should  never  know 
the  rights  of — all,  all  forgotten  now! — not  a  clue  to  guide  us.  A 
newspaper  paragraph  about  it  had  moralised,  and  pointed  out  the 
lesson  it  taught  us,  that  sooner  or  later  murder  would  out.  And 
Peggy  had  remarked  that  the  moral  seemed  to  her  to  be  that  mur- 
der sometimes  didn't  out,  until  it  might  almost  as  well  have 
stopped  in.  "What  a  many  murders  do  stop  in,  most  likely!" 
said  Charles  to  himself,  on  the  canal-bridge  in  Regents 
Park. 

"Would  it  be  any  use,  I  wonder,"  he  continued,  "to  look  up  that 
queer  old  fish  Parminter — no!  Verrinder — again  and  try  to  get 
Bome  more  out  of  him.  One  hasn't  any  time — that's  the  worst! 
I  shall  think  about  it  though." 

"You're  such  a  lazy  chap!"  said  Conscience — a  companion  who 
never  leaves  us,  and  who  gets  so  familiar  that  she  breeds  contempt 
for  her  own  counsels.  "Such  a  lazy  chap!  Why  can't  you  do  it, 
instead  of  thinking  about  it  ?" 

"I  really  shall  though,  seriously,"  said  Charles,  "because  one 
ought  to  try  to  clear  up  ghost-stories.  What  was  it  the  great 
Samuel  said  about  it — under  those  very  trees,  mayhap ! — 'the  ques- 
tion of  the  appearance  of  ghosts  was  perhaps  the  most  important 
question  humanity  had  to  decide,  and  we  were  no  nearer  a  deci- 
•sion  than  we  were  three  thousand  years  ago.'     That  funny  little 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  195 

Alice!  How  I  should  have  liked  to  see  her  acting  the  ghost  on 
the  beach  at  Shellacombe !" 

**You  ought  to  go  there — ^you  promised,  you  know,"  said  Con- 
science, still  at  his  elbow. 

"I  shall  go.  All  in  good  time.  Don't  be  a  nuisance!  I  must 
just  stay  for  one  more  sitting  when  that  head's  dry."  The  pro- 
file and  the  eyelid  asserted  themselves. 

"If  it  wasn't  for  them,"  said  Conscience,  pointing,  ^Vou  would 
go  down  to-morrow!" 

Charles  laughed  scornfully.  "I  never  heard  such  nonsense  in  my 
life,"  said  he.  "If  it's  to  be  this  sort  of  thing,  I  shall  give  up  Art, 
and  take  to "    But  that  was  as  far  as  he  got. 

He  turned  to  walk  back  along  the  broad  walk.  The  gate  was 
closing;  but  he  was  allowed  to  pass  if  he  would  promise  to  go 
straight  across,  and  not  keep  the  gate-closing  back.  He  walked 
on  through  the  almost  deserted  Park,  shouts  of  "All  out !"  reaching 
him  from  wandering  guardians,  and  the  beasts  in  the  Zoological 
Gardens  seeming  to  echo  their  injunctions.  No  wonder,  Charles 
thought,  if  it  is  true  they  are  allowed  out  on  parole  in  the  empty 
Park,  at  night,  as  the  story  goes ! 

In  order  to  lengthen  out  his  walk  in  the  silence  of  the  Park,  now 
moonlit  and  enjoyable,  and  at  the  same  time  to  keep  faith  with 
the  authorities,  he  made  for  Hanover  Gate,  instead  of  keeping 
on  the  broad  walk.  A  belated  workman  or  two,  and  a  park-keeper 
who  said,  "All  out!"  sternly  and  reproachfully,  were  all  the 
folk  he  saw  until  he  drew  near  the  bridge  over  the  Ornamental 
Water.  Then  he  became  aware  that  there  was  a  woman  behind  him, 
following  at  no  great  distance;  but  still  near  enough  to  give  the 
impression  that  she  was  following.  If  so,  she  must  have  been  fol- 
lowing for  some  time;  for  the  Park  at  this  point  is  (or  was  in 
those  days)  very  bare  of  trees  or  any  incident  of  cover,  and 
Charles  must  have  seen  her  had  he  passed  her  anywhere  on  the 
open  grass  land.  He  quickened  his  pace,  realising  that  a  prowler 
of  the  class  he  supposed  her  to  belong  to  would  see  in  this  a  hint 
that  her  society  was  not  coveted.  She  also  appeared  to  quicken 
her  pace,  but  not  sufficiently  to  lessen  the  distance  between  them. 
Sometimes  a  cabman,  fancying  he  has  been  signalled  to,  will  follow 
you,  without  your  seeing  why;  and  then  he  is  naturally  indignant 
when  he  finds  his  mistake.  Was  this  woman  under  a  like  delusion  ? 
Charles  had  heard  of  such  things.  But  as  he  stopped  a  moment, 
hesitating  between  two  paths,  he  noticed  that  she  stopped  too, 
which  seemed  to  him  to  dispose  of  the  theory. 

He  reached  the  exit  gate  opening  into  the  inner-circle  road,  and 


196  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

felt  inclined  to  argue  with  its  guardian,  who  told  him  to  "Look 
alive,  can't  you?"  It  seemed  ridiculous  to  look  alive,  when  there 
was  some  one  else  fifty  yards  behind,  who  was  still  at  liberty  to  look 
dead,  at  choice,  and  who  was  to  be  allowed  to  escape  also.  Charles 
loitered  a  moment  on  the  other  side  of  the  way,  lighting  a  cigarette, 
in  order  to  choose  the  opposite  direction  to  the  one  taken  by  the 
woman.  She  came  out  at  the  gate,  and  he  thought  he  heard  her 
finish  an  inaudible  remark  to  the  park-keeper  with  the  words,  "Tell 
him  to  go  that  way!"  and  then  pointed  to  her  left  and  went  off, 
quickly,  to  the  right.  Charles  thought  he  recognised  the  woman's 
voice,  as  a  voice  he  had  heard,  but  without  being  sure  whose  voice, 
and  waited  to  see  who  it  was  that  was  to  be  sent  the  other  way. 
Presently  a  man  came  running,  who  seemed  to  make  enquiry  of  the 
park-keeper,  who  appeared  to  turn  him  over  in  his  mind,  and 
then  finally  pointed  with  his  thumb  to  his  left ;  in  compliance,  pre- 
sumably, with  the  woman's  instructions.  Seeing  Charles  had  no- 
ticed the  transaction,  he  vouchsafed  some  explanation — "He's  best 
out  of  the  way,"  he  said. — "Ugly  sort  o'  customer !  Forring,  I 
should  say" — and  seemed,  to  Charles,  to  think  this  sufiicient. 
Charles  was  amused  to  find  that  he  himself  was  inclined  to  accept 
it,  as  one  accepts  anything  and  everything  in  England  that  is  done 
by  a  person  with  any  sort  of  badge  or  uniform.  Besides,  in  the 
slight  glance  he  had  at  the  ugly  sort  of  customer,  he  had  noted 
in  him  that  worst  of  all  combinations,  the  clerical  and  the  disso- 
lute. He  turned  and  went  his  way  home;  and,  as  he  went,  an 
impression  grew  and  grew  that  he  knew  whose  voice  this  woman's 
was,  and  also  the  figure  that  went  with  it.  He  would  listen  very 
carefully  to  Miss  Thiselton,  or  Straker,  next  Friday,  and  would 
observe  the  good  trying-on  figure,  to  see  if  this  impression  was 
right. 


CHAPTER  XVin 

OP  MISS  STRAKER's  antecedents,  and  her  voice,  why  didn't  CHARLES 
GO  TO  SHELLACOMBE  ?  HOW  MISS  PRYNNE  SAW  A  GHOST.  HOW  DR. 
JOHNSON  SAW  MISS  STRAKER.     CHARLES  ISN't  IN  LOVE 

Next  Friday  came,  and  with  it  Miss  Straker.  She  was  looking 
very  nice,  thought  Charles — much  too  nice  ever  to  have  anything 
in  common  with  that  Park-woman.  The  good  trying-on  figure  was 
near  enough  certainly;  the  voice  was  going  to  sound  quite  different, 
Charles  felt  confident.  She  was  very  journaliere,  clearly,  was  Miss 
Straker;  for  this  time  she  hardly  struck  him  as  at  all  lop-sided  as 
she  looked  him  frankly  in  the  face,  and  thanked  him  for  his  timely 
loan. 

'*I  don't  know  what  we  should  have  done,  Mr.  Heath,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  your  great  kindness.  My  mother  would  have  liked  to  come 
and  thank  you  herself,  but  I  thought  it  would  only  bore  you,  and 
said  no !" 

Was  it  the  voice  ?  Well !  It  would  have  been  more  satisfactory 
if  it  had  been  more  unlike  it.  Still,  it  was  certainly  possible  to 
believe  it  wasn't,  and  Charles  adjusted  his  belief  accordingly — at 
least  for  the  present.  This  morning,  Miss  Straker  was  at  her 
best,  and  Charles  wanted  her  not  to  have  been  that  woman  in  the 
Park.  It  did  not  seem  to  occur  to  him  that  she  might  have  been 
the  vilest  of  the  vile,  and  yet  a  good  model  for  Regan.  A  perfectly 
logical  and  detached  artist  wouldn't  have  cared  twopence  whether 
she  was  the  Park -woman  or  not.  Still,  Charles  did  not  suspect 
that  he  was  other  than  perfectly  detached. 

Miss  Straker,  becoming  absorbed  in  Regan,  and  remembering 
the  reserve  due  to  a  non-professional  position,  gave  no  further 
opportunity  of  judging  of  her  voice  until  she  struck  work  and  asked 
for  a  rest.  "I  ought  to  have  asked  you,"  said  Charles,  apologising. 
"You'll  have  to  sing  out"  when  you  want  to  rest.  Miss  Thisel — 
Straker."  He  began  with  one  name,  and  corrected  himself  in  the 
middle. 

"Miss  Thiselstraker,"  said  she,  laughing.  "It  makes  a  funny 
name.  But  I  don't  mind  which  you  call  me.  Mr.  Calthorpe  was 
very  impertinent,  I  thought.    Don't  you  think  it's  very  impertinent 

197 


198  ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 

to  call  a  girl  by  her  Christian  name,  Mr.  Heath?"  Charles  was 
comparing  the  voice;  and  was  getting  no  nearer,  but  only  puzzling 
himself.  He  replied  absently,  "Yes — very!"  The  young  lady 
meandered  on,  but  in  a  suave  undertone  which  gave  no  clue. 

"Mr.  Calthorpe  used  to  call  me  Lavvy.  My  brother  always  calls 
me  Vinny.  Which  do  you  like  best,  Mr.  Heath?  But  I  mustn't 
talk  and  disturb  you." — And  she  picked  up  a  book  and  began  to 
read.  Now  Charles  saw  the  book  was  Les  Travailleurs  de  la  Mer, 
and  he  didn't  believe  Miss  Straker  could  read  French.  However,  if 
pretending  to  read  French  kept  her  quiet,  why  shouldn't  she  pre- 
tend? It  pleased  her  and  didn't  hurt  him.  Besides,  the  profile 
and  the  eyelid  had  recrudesced  in  that  position.  Oh  no !  With  a 
profile  and  an  eyelid  like  that  she  never  could — never — never! 
There  was  one  thing  though  she  could  do  and  was  doing,  viz. :  earn- 
ing money  at  the  rate  of  one  shilling  an  hour  by  reading  Victor 
Hugo  in  a  comfortable  armchair.  Charles  protested,  in  the  name 
of  business.  "And  a  nice  humbug  you  are !"  thought  he  to  himself, 
as  Miss  Straker  put  down  the  volume  with  apparent  reluctance,  and 
climbed  up  to  be  Regan.  Her  hand  felt  very  honest  though,  as  he 
helped  her  on  to  the  throne. 

"I  love  Victor  Hugo !  Don't  you  love  Victor  Hugo,  Mr.  Heath  ? 
But  I  like  Notre  Dame  de  Paris  better  than  the  Travailleurs  de  la 
Mer?    But  I  like  Les  Miserables  best.    Isn't  Jean  Valjean  grand  ?" 

"I  didn't  know  you  read  French  so  well."  Charles  was  taken  by 
surprise.    She  could  pronounce  Travailleurs. 

"Didn't  you?  I  thought  you  knew.  Oh  dear,  yes! — Why,  you 
know  my  mother  is  a  Frenchwoman,  and  I  lived  in  Paris  till  I 
was  nineteen!  I  read  French  much  better  than  English.  I  can't 
read  Dickens  and  Thackeray  half  like  I  can  Dumas  or  Victor 
Hugo." 

Charles  felt  ashamed.  Perhaps  his  suspicion  about  the  Park- 
woman  was  just  as  groundless  as  his  assumption  that  this  girl, 
more  French  than  English,  could  not  read  French.  He  was  always 
suspecting  things !  Why,  at  this  very  moment  he  was  imagining  a 
too-ready  assumption  of  some  bygone  rapport  in  the  words,  "I 
thought  you  knew." — Never  mind!  He  would  clear  all  scores  by 
never  thinking  about  the  Park  incident  again.  He  apologised 
cordially,  in  secret. 

"We  lived  at  Choisy-le-Roi  till  my  father  died,"  pursued  Miss 
Straker,  picking  up  her  thread  of  narrative  at  the  next  rest,  hav- 
ing been  conscientiously  silent  during  work  time.  "It  was  very 
nice  at  Choisy-le-Roi.  I  was  learning  singing  then.  Do  you  like 
singing,  Mr.  Heath?"     Now  Charles  was  very  fond  of  music — 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  199 

played  a  little,  himself.  "Were  you  studying  for  the  profession?" 
he  asked. 

"Oh  yes !  I  have  a  good  voice.  High  soprano.  But  I  can't  sing 
for  long  together.    If  only  it  were  stronger!" 

"How  came  you  to  come  to  London?  Surely  Paris  is  better  for 
training  than  London?"- 

"Much  better,  if  you  can  afford  it.  But  we  were  very  poor,  and 
I  had  an  offer  of  training,  without  paying  any  fees  at  all,  from 
Pesciatino,  who,  you  know,  lives  in  London.  I  got  on  very  well  till 
my  voice  played  tricks." 

"I  thought  your  mother  had  some  house  property  in  London?" 

"No — the  house  is  at  Choisy-le-Roi — our  old  house.  The  mort- 
gagee is  an  Englishman.  I  should  like  to  go  back  to  Paris  now  we 
have  had  to  give  up  the  singing.  Shouldn't  you  like  to  live  in 
Paris,  Mr.  Heath?" 

"Oh  yes — I  shouldn't  mind  living  in  Paris.  But  tell  me  about 
your  voice — ^how  does  it  break  down?" 

"It  goes — goes  clean  away — all  of  a  sudden!  I  was  singing  to 
an  Agency — to  try  for  an  engagement.  I  had  sung  one  song — very 
well,  I  thought.  I  tried  another,  and  found  I  had  no  voice — 
couldn't  sing  a  note!  Wasn't  it  funny?  Did  you  ever  have  it 
happen  to  you,  Mr.  Heath?" 

"I  never  sang  to  an  Agency  to  try  my  voice,"  said  Charles,  "or 
it  might  have.  But  did  that  make  you  give  it  up  ?  Wasn't  it  rather 
premature?" 

"Oh  no !  It  happened  again  soon  after.  We  had  to  give  it  up. 
Then  Pesciatino  said  it  was  no  use  my  going  on  training.  Then 
Maurice  was  always  in  want  of  money " 

"Is  that  your  brother?" 

"Yes — and  money  had  to  be  found — so- 


"You  took  to  sitting.  I  can't  help  thinking  you  were  rather  pre- 
mature— in  too  great  a  hurry — about  the  voice — ^but  of  course  I 
can't  tell."  Charles  was  leaving  Regan  to  take  care  of  herself. 
His  irrepressible  good-nature,  coupled  with  a  haunting  sense  that  he 
had  done  this  poor  girl  an  injustice,  was  gaining  ground ;  and  there 
was  no  friendly  guidance  at  hand  to  steer  him  into  safe  waters. 

"I  should  like  you  to  hear  me  sing.    Only  you  have  no  piano." 

"No !  I  should  be  playing  all  day,  instead  of  working,  if  I  had  a 
piano " 

"Oh,  do  you  play?  But  those  ladies  upstairs  have  a  piano — 
they  wouldn't  mind ?" 

"Wouldn't  mind  lending  it?  I  couldn't  ask — don't  know  them 
well  enough !    Oh  dear,  no !    Certainly  that  would  never  do."    For 


200  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

Charles  didn't  feel  at  all  confident  about  the  views  the  two  Miss 
Prynnes  would  take  of  an  invasion  of  their  premises  by  a  rather 
showy-looking  young  female,  to  give  a  matinee  musicale  to  an 
audience  of  one  single  gentleman.  Even  with  the  powerful  sanc- 
tion of  their  own  presence  it  would  be  doubtful;  while  as  for  ask- 
ing Jeff  to  consolidate  matters,  he  would  only  make  them  worse. 
The  Miss  Prynnes  were  already  inclined  to  kick  and  make  com- 
plaint about  Mr.  Jerrythought's  noises  overhead;  and  there  had 
even  been  allegations  of  disreputable  female  characters,  only  as- 
cribable  to  him,  occurring  in  the  gangways  of  the  house  at  un- 
earthly hours  in  the  morning.  Jeff  indignantly  repudiated  this — 
it  is  but  just  to  him  to  say  so. 

Charles,  at  this  moment,  in  this  narrative,  is  hesitating  about  a 
plunge,  which  if  taken  may  affect  his  future  seriously.  While  he 
is  thinking  about  it,  we  may  make  further  reference  to  these  sug- 
gestions of  the  Miss  Prynnes  about  Mr.  Jeff.  Their  story  was  that 
on  the  occasion  of  a  partial  eclipse  of  the  moon  which  was  predicted 
for  half -past  three  in  the  morning,  they  had  timidly  ventured  forth 
to  observe  it  from  the  window  of  the  little  crib  mentioned  in  a 
former  chapter  by  Mr.  Jerrythought,  that  was  neither  a  room  nor  a 
landing;  a  clear  sky  being  visible  therefrom.  They  remained 
watching  it  until  all  the  Astronomy  proper  had  come  to  an  end, 
and  the  moon  was  left  to  go  on  by  itself,  without  addition  of 
factitious  interests.  Then  they  returned  as  they  had  come;  but 
were  scandalised  at  being  passed  on  the  stairs  by  a  most  disreputa- 
ble-looking person  in  a  sort  of  flowered  dressing-gown,  who  could 
only  be  going  up  to  see  the  moon  from  where  they  had  seen  it; 
or,  culpahile  dictu,  to  the  apartment  occupied  by  that  very  doubt- 
ful and  noisy  artist  with  the  absurd  name.  The  younger  one, 
though  speechless,  could  not  restrain  her  curiosity;  and  kept  her 
eyes  long  enough  on  this  person  to  see  that  she  disappeared  into 
his  room,  no  doubt  closing  the  door  very  quietly  so  that  no  one 
should  hear  it  slam. 

They  of  course  did  not  tax  the  delinquent  with  his  irregularities, 
but  it  came  to  his  hearing  indirectly;  being  communicated  (to 
downstairs)  by  a  person  of  Mrs.  Twills's  class  (but  much  thicker), 
who  came  in  to  do  out  the  Miss  Prynnes,  and  to  empt,  and  any 
little  bit  of  cooking  when  wanted.  She  was  a  married  woman, 
and  could  communicate  on  such  a  topic  with  Mr.  Chappell,  who  was 
also  married.  Mr.  Chappell  did  not  see  his  way  to  making  or  med- 
dling in  Mr.  Jerrythought's  affairs.  What  concern  was  Mr.  J.  of 
his?  But  Mr.  Pope  saw  his  way,  to  the  extent  of  suggesting  the 
existence  of  a  reciprocal  understanding,  by  winks  or  clucks,  be- 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  201 

tween  himself  and  Mr.  J.,  from  which  Europe  was  to  be  excluded 
by  mutual  consent.  This  led  to  revelation  and  total  denial  by  the 
culprit,  only  applicable  (by  special  proviso)  to  this  particular  case; 
for  Jeff  repudiated  as  a  personal  insult  any  imputation  of  behav- 
ing himself,  as  a  rule;  and  only  alleged  that  at  the  time  in  ques- 
tion his  door  was  locked  tight,  and  he  was  fast  asleep.  He  further 
said  that  if  it  was  a  humbugging  ghost,  he  would  thank  it  to  go 
and  'ornt  somebody  else.  Charles  had  heard  enough  of  this  story 
to  make  him  shy  of  taxing  the  toleration  of  the  Miss  Prynnes  by 
requesting  loans  of  pianos  for  his  lady  acquaintances.  But  we 
may  now  go  back  to  him.    He  has  had  plenty  of  time  to  decide. 

"But  I  suppose  your  mother  wouldn't  object  to  my  calling  on 
you  to  hear  you  sing? " 

"Why  should  she  ?" 

"I  thought  possibly — it  was  only  an  idea — that  she  wouldn't  like 
Artists  you  are  sitting  for  to  be  on  the  footing  of  friends — I  mean 
ordinary  friends "  He  felt  he  wasn't  putting  it  well,  and  hesi- 
tated over  it  a  little. 

"Certainly  she  wouldn't — not  any  Artists.  But  see  how  kind 
you  have  been !  She  wanted  to  come  and  thank  you  to-day  herself, 
but  I  thought  it  would  bore  and  hinder  you,  and  she  had  better  not. 
But  she  really  is  most  grateful,  Mr.  Heath." 

Charles  had  taken  his  plunge,  and  was  committed  to  Miss 
Straker  as  an  acquaintance.  But  he  threw  in  a  little  word  or  two, 
to  define  and  limit  his  position. 

"You  see.  Miss  Straker,  I  often  hear  of  people  who  want  a  good 
singer,  to  make  a  party  go  off  well — and  who  pay  very  well  too. 
Mind!  If  I  don't  think  your  voice  up  to  the  mark,  I  shall  have 
to  be  unkind  and  say  so " 

"Oh — the  voice  is  all  right,"  said  Miss  Straker  with  equable 
confidence.  And  she  resumed  Regan  with  alacrity,  as  one  who 
knows  time  has  been  wasted. 

It  might  have  struck  a  bystander  that  as  soon  as  ever  she  saw  a 
clear  road  to  a  permanent  acquaintance  with  Charles,  she  began 
to  make  it  much  easier  for  him.  It  might  have  been  unfair  to  sug- 
gest that  her  fish  being  hooked  she  gave  him  the  line  to  himself, 
and  sat  on  the  bank  quietly,  taking  good  care  not  to  frighten  him. 
But  she  certainly  knocked  off  the  little  tentative  personalities 
which  are  the  delight  of  the  female  Model  in  full  swing,  and  which 
she  seemed  to  be  on  the  way  to  acquire  in  perfection  after  a  little 
more  experience.  If  she  did  this  with  a  view  of  making  Charles's 
visit  at  her  mother's  an  easy  and  natural  thing  to  him,  possibly 
pleasant  to  repeat,  it  shows  that  she  understood  her  man.     She 


202  ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 

had  gone  a  long  way  towards  disgusting  him  by  her  attempts  to 
introduce  the  story  (probably  not  exactly  true)  of  Mrs.  Calthorpe's 
jealousy;  and  he  didn't  feel  at  all  attracted  to  a  discussion  of 
what  name  that  lady's  husband  should  have  called  her  by.  She  had 
much  better  have  left  the  profile  and  the  eyelid  to  do  the  job.  But 
now  it  was  all  right.  And  no  doubt  Miss  Lavinia  Straker  be- 
came much  pleasanter  to  Charles  when  (for  whatever  reason)  she 
gave  up  attempting  to  captivate,  and  adjusted  her  conversation  with 
a  due  regard  to  the  actual  degree  of  their  acquaintance.  She  also 
made  him  quite  comfortable  on  the  Park  question  by  saying  she 
and  a  friend  had  heard  The  Messiah  the  evening  before,  but  had 
had  to  wait  an  hour  in  the  street.  So  she  could  not  have  been  in 
Regents  Park  after  "the  official  hour  of  sunset." 

"I  shan't  be  free  for  some  days  now,"  said  Charles,  when  the 
sitting  was  over.  "But  after  next  week  I  have  no  engagement. 
To-morrow  morning,  I  am  going  down  to  Devonshire,  to  my 
family "  For  he  had  remembered  his  promise  to  Con- 
science. 

"I  didn't  know  you  had  a  family." 

"No  more  I  have,  in  that  sense — in  the  sense  you  mean,  I  mean. 
I  was  speaking  of  my  mother  and  sisters." 

"I  see.  I  didn't  know.  But  you  will  come  and  hear  me  sing,  all 
the  same,  won't  you?"  Charles  said  of  course  he  would,  as  soon 
as  ever  he  returned  to  town. 

Now  observe,  that  if — (only  we  don't  at  all  say  this  was  the 
case) — if  this  young  woman  was  a  designing  young  woman,  her 
last  two  remarks  did  her  powers  of  design  great  credit.  The  first 
did  away  with  any  impressions  her  previous  conversation  might 
have  created,  by  registering  the  fact  that  she  did  not  know  that 
Charles  was  a  single  man.  The  second,  by  leaving  it  doubtful 
what  "all  the  same"  applied  to,  left  a  meaning  open  to  it  fruitful 
of  suggestion  that  Charles's  coming  to  see  her  as  a  single  man 
might  be  open  to  interpretations — not  of  a  sinister  sort,  certainly, 
but  of  a  nature  that  made  it  more  pure-hearted  and  frank  in  her 
to  disclaim  them  in  advance.  "You  need  not  be  the  least  fright- 
ened. However  much  I  like  you,  I  should  scorn  to  take  advantage 
of  you,"  was  what  she  had  contrived  to  say,  if  we  may  judge  by 
the  way  Charles  again  blamed  himself  for  having  misinterpreted 
her.  "What  a  vain  ass  I  am !"  he  said  to  himself.  While  she,  if  she 
had  such  meanings,  may  have  felt  very  like  Becky  Sharp  after  a 
master-stroke. 

Charles  saw  her  down  to  the  door,  honestly  believing  that,  of  the 
two,  hers  was  the  pastoral  nature.    As  he  stood  watching  the  good 


ALICE-FOK-SHOKT  203 

trying-on  figure  go  down  the  street,  he  was  accosted  by  "Hullo! 
Charley — who's  the  Beauty?"    And  there  stood  Dr.  Johnson. 

"She's  not  a  Beauty.  She's  only  a  Model,"  said  Charles.  And 
then  his  chivalrous  heart  turned  round  and  blamed  him  for  speak- 
ing in  such  a  way  of  any  girl.  "She's  a  very  nice,  ladylUce  girl," 
he  added,  correcting  and  extenuating,  "Only  I  shouldn't  call  her 
a  Beauty,  exactly.    I'm  painting  her  as  Regan." 

"She  was  a  nice  ladylike  girl,  with  a  vengeance!  Now,  Charley, 
come  along  in  and  hear  all  my  news.  Never  mind  the  nice  lady- 
like girl."  For  Charles  was  keeping  his  eye  on  the  vanishing 
form.    It  turned  a  corner  and  was  gone. 

"Peggy  hasn't  written  to  me  yet  about  it,"  said  he.  Surely  none 
but  his  mother's  son  could  ever  have  got  so  far  in  medias  res  with- 
out an  Index,  or  a  Preface,  or  an  Exordium,  or  at  least  a  Title-page. 

"I  see  there's  not  much  to  tell,"  said  Johnson.  "But  do  say  you 
haven't  been  execrating  me — you  said  I  might,  you  know! " 

"Did  I  ?  Well,  I  suppose  I  did." — For  in  a  conversation  we  have 
not  recorded,  Charles  had  said  to  his  friend,  jokingly,  that  if  he 
had  fifty  sisters,  single  ones,  Johnson  was  welcome  to  make  offers 
to  them  all  round. — "But  then,  my  dear  Paracelsus,  that  was  to  be 
if  I  had  fifty.  That  would  leave  me  forty-nine — or  in  case  of 
bigamy,  forty-eight;  or  quadrogamy — tetragamy — whatever  it 
ought  to  be — forty-six." 

"I  see  you're  not  very  angry,  old  chap " 

"Angry!" — Charles  could  only  wring  his  friend's  hand  affec- 
tionately. "Angry! — Why,  as  far  as  it's  being  you  goes,  nothing 
could  please  me  better.  Only  of  course — only  of  course — it's  a  sort 
of  break  up ;  might  have  gone  on  a  little  longer,  don't  you  know  ?" 
For  even  in  those  days  people  used  to  say,  "don't  you  know?" 
Only  then  they  used  to  say  other  things  as  well.  A  time  came  when 
they  said  nothing  else. 

Johnson  looked  as  if  he  did  know,  and  was  sorry.  "I'm  a  brute," 
said  he,  "and  I  know  it.  But  you  would  have  had  to  forgive  some- 
body else,  old  boy,  if  it  hadn't  been  me.  As  for  Margaret,  I  think 
she's  not  much  ashamed  of  me,  at  present.  But  she  didn't  like  to 
confess  up;  because,  you  see,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  not  to 
marry,  on  high  Philanthropic  grounds — good  example  to  her 
species — and  so  forth!  So  she  said  if  you  hadn't  found  it  out 
from  her  letters,  I  must  break  it  to  you.    Now  it's  broke !" 

"And  at  any  rate  it  isn't  anybody  else — that's  one  comfort! 
What  did  the  Governor  say?" 

"Oh,  of  course  I  haven't  seen  him — I  want  you  to  come  and  help 
me  in  that  quarter.    Your  mother  and  I  may  be  said  to  have  made 


204  ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 

it  up  now,  after  difficulties.  We  are  on  very  good  terms.  But  she 
tells  me  I  must  anticipate  opposition  from  Mr.  Heath."  Charles 
laughed  internally,  and  may  have  begun  to  smile  outwardly,  for 
Johnson  added,  "Don't  you  think  so?"  However,  Charles  wasn't 
going  to  commit  his  father,  or  any  one,  to  anything.  So  he  merely 
promised  his  moral  support,  that  evening,  if  Johnson  would  come 
back  to  dinner  at  Hyde  Park  Gardens,  after  a  visit  at  the  Hos- 
pital— an  institution  he  said  he  felt  ashamed  to  look  in  the  face, 
after  the  way  he  had  neglected  it  lately. 

Mr.  Heath  Senior  certainly  made  all  the  stereotyped  objections; 
and  though  Charles  felt  incredulous  under  the  skin,  and  detected 
in  them  a  certain  spirit  of  pomposity  to  which,  in  his  father,  he 
was  no  stranger,  they  did  not  altogether  fail  to  impress  his  friend 
as  genuine.  Master  Rupert  felt  uneasy,  and  feared  his  projected 
mother-in-law  was  right.  But,  as  it  chanced,  matters  official  hav- 
ing been  left  in  abeyance,  the  talk  turned  on  his  family,  and  he 
mentioned  his  father's  Christian  name — Philip  Kenrick  Johnson. 

"Why,  God  bless  my  soul!"  exclaimed  old  Heath.  "You  don't 
mean  that  ?  Ken  Johnson — why ! — he  and  I  were  at  school  together 
at  Clifton.  Well,  now — that  is  strange!"  Charles  felt  imme- 
diately that  the  objections  had  only  a  feeble  hold  on  life — were 
spiritless  and  anaemic. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Doctor,  "I  think  my  father  was  at  school  at 
Clifton.  Then  he  went  to  Addiscombe.  He  died  when  I  was  quite 
a  boy.    He  was  killed  at  Inkerman." 

"I  remember — ^you  told  us.  But  I  never  knew  he  was  Ken  John- 
son! Why,  we  were  the  greatest  friends,  he  and  I!  We  were 
there  three  years  nearly.  We  fought  six  times  in  the  first  two  years 
— ^beginning  of  every  term.  Sometimes  he  licked;  sometimes  I 
licked "    Charles  felt  that  the  objections  were  moribund. 

"But  you  didn't  always  fight,"  said  he. 

"Oh  no !  Last  term  I  was  there  he'd  got  a  beetle  I  hadn't — (we 
used  to  collect  beetles) — Necrophorus  Sepultor  I  think  it  was ;  and 
I  had  a  beetle  he  hadn't,  whose  name  I  can't  recollect — dear,  dear 
now!  What  was  the  name  of  that  beetle?"  Charles  said  never 
mind.  "Oh  yes — ^but  I  do  mind!  I  should  like  to  remember  the 
name  of  that  beetle."  However,  Mr.  Heath  had  to  give  it  up,  and 
went  on:  "Anyhow — he  put  Necrophorus  Sepultor  in  a  little  pill- 
box and  put  him  down  my  back  in  class,  and  we  got  in  a  row  with 
the  master,  and  after  class  I  gave  him  mine  in  exchange.  Ah 
dear!" 

Charles  felt  that  the  objections  were  dead,  and  that  they  might 
be  handed  over  to  Necrophorus  Sepultor,  about  whom  Mr.  Heath 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  205 

was  probably  wrong,  as  we  believe  he  is  a  very  common  beetle. 
Anyhow,  it  was  quite  clear  no  one  could  object  to  any  one  marrying 
his  daughter  if  he  had  fought  that  man's  father  through  two  years 
of  school,  at  the  beginning  of  every  term.  But  a  definition  of  the 
position  was  called  for — that  dignity  should  suffer  no  outrage ! 

"As  for  you  two  young  folks — ^you  and  Peggy — you  must  think 
it  over  a  bit — consider  nothing  settled — bad  to  be  in  too  great  a 
hurry — hardly  known  each  other  a  year — your  own  prospects,  my 
boy,  most  uncertain,  etc.,  etc.,  etc."  But  Charles  noticed  that  Dr. 
Johnson  had  become  my  boy.  And  when  he  said  good-night  to  his 
father,  after  Johnson  had  departed,  evidently  reporting  a  good 
deal  of  progress  to  himself,  the  general  recapitulation  certainly 
contained  no  element  of  serious  obstacle  to  the  happiness  of  the 
two  lovers. 

"We  must  see  what  your  mother  has  to  say,  Charley.  If  she 
says  I'm  to  say  yes,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  say  yes — otherwise, 
otherwise ! — she  and  Peg  must  have  it  out  between  them.  I  expect 
they're  ordering  the  wedding-dresses,  and  settling  who's  to  be  asked 
to  the  wedding.  I  shan't  have  any  voice  in  the  matter.  You'll  find 
it  all  settled  when  you  get  there  to-morrow.  But  just  fancy  that! 
Ken  Johnson's  son !" 

Charles,  re-enveloped  by  this  interview  in  the  atmosphere  of 
Home,  forgot  all  about  his  Studio  acquaintance — the  profile  and 
the  eyelid  were  disestablished  for  the  time  being.  But  they  floated 
back  into  his  field  of  vision  as  soon  as  it  was  empty,  and  brewed 
dissension  between  himself  and  Conscience.  For  the  latter  had  the 
bad  taste  and  feeling  to  suggest  that  the  prospect  of  losing  Peggy, 
so  far  as  he  should  lose  her,  was  less  repellent  to  him  than  it 
would  have  seemed  a  month  ago — ever  so  little  less,  perhaps,  but 
still  less. 

"If  you  mean,"  Charles  angrily  replied,  "that  I'm  in  love  with 
this  stupid  Model  girl,  and  that  she  could  make  up  to  me  for — 
there !    I  won't  talk  about  it.    It's  too  disgusting  and  ridiculous." 

"I  never  used  the  expression  'in  love,' "  said  Conscience ;  "you 
made  that!"  And  Charles  said  he  wasn't  going  to  talk  any  more 
about  it,  as  it  was  late  and  he  woidd  have  to  catch  an  early  train 
at  Waterloo. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

OP  MR.  VERRINDER  AT  THE  RAILWAY  STATION.  OF  ALICE-FOR-SHORT  AND 
THE  BEETLE,  WHO  WAS  THE  NICE  LADYLIKE  GIRL?  PSYCHICAL  RE- 
SEARCH 

Charles  caught  the  early  train.  As  he  entered  the  station  a 
dingy  figure  said,  "How-de-do,  Mr.  Heath  ?"  to  him — a  dingy  figure 
in  a  napless  hat,  with  a  threadbare  coat  anxiously  buttoned  against 
contingencies  of  buttonlessness  elsewhere;  with  an  umbrella  that 
was  pretending  it  hadn't  a  broken  rib,  and  knew  better;  with  a 
carpet-bag  made  of  carpet,  as  they  always  were,  once,  and  one 
end  of  its  leather  handle  made  uncongenially  fast  with  string, 
and  a  brass  plate  on  which  a  name  was  once  legible.  It  was  what 
had  caught  Charles's  eye  first,  and  he  was  wondering  when,  as  its 
owner  addressed  him.  Then  he  saw  that  it  would  have  been  Ver- 
rinder,  if  it  really  belonged  to  its  present  owner. 

What  was  saddest  in  the  poor  fellow's  dilapidation  was  that  he 
evidently  believed  he  had  succeeded  in  his  attempt  to  smarten  up 
for  the  public  eye.  His  shirt  had  been  washed,  but  probably  at 
home,  in  a  household  without  servants.  His  coat  had  been  brushed, 
perhaps  with  the  wooden  basis  of  what  was  once  a  clothes-brush, 
but  now  was  bald  and  hairless.  His  hat  had  been  stroked  round 
with  his  sleeve,  most  likely;  and  then  he  had  felt  that  he  could  go 
on  parade.  Charles  only  felt  sorry  for  him,  not  repelled  by  his 
shabbiness. 

"How-de-do,  Mr.  Heath  ?  I  haven't  forgotten  you  gave  me  three 
tubes  of  Asphaltum.     Beautiful  colour !" 

"Are  you  going  by  the  eight -thirty,  Mr.  Verrinder  ?  Because  if 
you  are  we  can  travel  together."  If  Charles  had  met  Mr.  Kerr- 
Kerr,  who  was  rather  a  point-de-vice  gentleman,  he  would  have 
dodged  him,  because  he  wanted  to  be  by  himself.  But  as  it  was 
this  poor  woe-begone  piece  of  antiquity,  chivalry  stepped  in.  He 
wasn't  going  to  shy  off  from  the  poor  devil.  He  could  have  pro- 
vided himself  with  good  and  sufficient  reasons,  but  he  would 
have  suspected  himself  of  snobbishness,  and  he  wasn't  going  to 
run  the  risk  of  trial  and  conviction. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  said  he,  when  Verrinder  answered 
him  yes  to  his  first  question.     Verrinder  was  going  to  Witley. 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  207 

*1'11  take  tickets  for  both,"  said  Charles;  "I'm  going  to  travel 
third."  Of  course  he  wasn't,  but  he  didn't  want  any  class  dis- 
tinctions. He  took  two  third-class  tickets,  knowing  he  could 
change  his  carriage  and  pay  excess  fare. 

"You  never  came  to  see  me  at  my  Studio,"  said  he  when  they 
were  settled  in  their  places.  The  train  moved  slowly  out  of  the 
station,  and  was  beginning  to  be  at  its  ease  about  cross-lines  and 
ambushes  before  Verrinder  answered  him. 

"Oh  no — oh  no!  Too  long  ago  for  me!  It's  a  good  way  to 
come,  too.    No,  no — not  my  line — thank  you!" 

Charles  understood  that  he  really  thanked  for  the  invitation — 
that  there  was  no  element  of  derision  in  the  phrase.  "I  see,"  said 
he,  "I  won't  bother  you  to  come.  It  is  a  very  long  way."  Charles 
registered  the  distance  as  the  reason,  lest  he  should  seem  to  impute 
a  sensibility  about  old  memories  the  other  seemed  to  wish  to  dis- 
claim. He  judged  by  a  hardness  in  his  voice.  Charles  remem- 
bered at  this  moment  that  he  had  promised  to  make  no  enquiries 
into  Verrinder's  previous  story.  Otherwise  the  words,  "Too  long 
ago  for  me,"  apart  from  the  voice,  might  have  given  him  an  excuse. 

Verrinder  said  very  little  indeed  during  the  short  journey.  He 
said  he  shouldn't  like  to  be  a  brickmaker,  but  that  they  said  the 
smell  wasn't  unwholesome.  He  said  he  shouldn't  care  to  work 
on  the  line,  but  that  he  understood  you  always  got  compensation. 
He  seemed  to  assume  that  no  railway  employee  could  escape  death 
by  misadventure  or  bodily  injury.  He  reflected  that  it  was  much 
quieter  in  this  part  of  the  world  before  the  railway  came,  showing 
how  far  back  his  memory  of  this  part  of  the  world  went.  He 
might  have  become  interesting  at  this  point,  Charles  thought, 
but  they  arrived  at  Woking  and  he  changed  for  Witley.  Charles 
remembered  this  little  incident  long  after. 

The  journey  to  Shellacombe  was  such  a  long  one  that  it  is  not 
to  be  wondered  at  that  the  profile,  the  eyelid,  and  the  promised 
voice  were  completely  forgotten  by  the  time  Peggy's  arms  were 
round  her  brother  at  the  little  railway  station  at  Cleave,  where  she 
came  with  Alice  to  meet  him  and  show  him  how  quite  the  same  she 
was  in  spite  of  her  escapade.  He  felt  that  was  all  right.  As 
much  the  same  as  the  little  unalterable  railway  station  on  the 
single  line,  with  the  roses  still  in  bloom  along  the  platform  fence, 
and  the  name  of  it  done  large  in  pebble  mosaic  on  a  slope  of 
green  along  the  other  end  of  the  platform.  Even  the  two  or  three 
other  people  who  arrived  were  exactly  the  same  as  usual;  and  they 
were  driven  away  in  the  same  two-horse  carriage  and  the  same  dog- 
cart by  the  same  civil  men  whose  nature  defied  the  influences  of  the 


208  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

metropolis.  Or  if  they  were  not  absolutely  the  same  people  they 
had  some  quality  about  them  which  answered  all  the  purposes  of 
identity  without  committing  its  owner  to  being  anybody  else. 

"Oh,  you  bad  boy !"  said  Peggy,  when  she  had  driven  convicti<7a 
home,  "do  you  mean  to  say  you've  come  here  with  no  luggage 
but  that  ?"  It  seemed  so ;  or  else  the  train,  sanctioned  by  a  whistle 
from  the  far  end,  was  taking  away  Charles's  box.  No!  It  was 
all  right,  and  there  was  nothing  for  "the  man"  to  find  room  for  in 
front.  So  Charles  and  Peggy,  and  his  contemptible  little  valise, 
were  off  in  the  twilight  through  the  little  village  street,  which 
was  as  much  the  same  as  the  station  had  been,  or  even  more  so; 
with  the  same  sun-browned  white-haired  children  growing  up  to 
be  the  same  people,  and  the  same  people  remembering  how  very 
much  the  same  children  they  were,  once,  themselves!  Charles 
felt  how  premature  he  had  been  to  fancy  the  world  was  going  to 
disperse  because  his  sister  married.  She  wouldn't  change,  any- 
how! Why,  look  at  her!  There  she  was,  more  herself  than  ever! 
And  very  lovely  Peggy  looked  in  the  half-light,  I  can  tell  you, 
with  her  hair  shaken  out  and  only  the  least  little  shade  of  sun- 
scorch  from  long  exposure  on  the  inexhaustible  sands.  Alice's  eyes 
were  fixed  on  her  in  admiration ;  but  then  they  almost  always  were. 

"And  is  Alice  burnt  black  too?"  said  Charles,  after  reference  to 
the  baking  powers  of  Shellacombe,  which  were  alleged  to  be  quite 
outside  and  beyond  all  precedent,  off  the  Equator.  It  really  is 
quite  wonderful  what  individual  characteristics  towns  have  along 
the  English  coast. 

"No — absurd  little  monkey!  She  stops  quite  white,  like  that. 
Show  Mr.  Charley  your  face.  Miss  Kavanagh."  Alice  does  seem 
strangely  white,  or  ivorylike;  considering  that  she  too  has  been 
baking  in  the  sun,  and  living  most  part  of  the  day  in  a  tent  on 
the  sands.  She  has  become  more  than  ever  one  of  the  family  by 
now,  in  this  gypsified  life,  and  must  be  thought  of  as  such.  It  is 
curious,  because  really  it  is  only  a  short  two-thirds  of  a  year  since 
she  was  that  poor  little — almost  street  Arab,  we  wanted  to  write. 
Peggy  felt  all  the  more  for  the  others  who  were  left. 

"Let's  have  a  look  at  you,  Alice-for-short,"  says  Charles.  And 
Peggy  has  to  remind  her  companions  that  a  waggonette  is  not  a 
place  to  romp  in.  "We've  got  to  shut  up  and  be  good,  Alice,"  he 
says.  And  Alice  repeats  after  him,  "Sut  up  and  be  dood!"  and 
becomes  demure. 

"But  I  did  tumble  over  the  tiff,"  says  she,  as  if  it  was  a  merit — 
an  extenuation  of  any  current  misdemeanours. 

"Cliff,  child!    When  will  you  learn  to  speak  plain?     Oh  dear! 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  209 

My  hair's  all  coming  down.  No — it's  no  use  trying  to  stick  it  up, 
Alice  dear — never  mind!  We  shall  be  back  directly — and  you 
shall  do  it  up  for  me.    Say  cli£F,  plain':" 

"Curl-iff!"  This  with  a  great  effort  from  Alice,  who  continues, 
"Tumbled  over  it,  I  did.  And  Dr.  Jomson  came  down  upside 
down  and  catched-ed  hold  ever  so  tight " 

"Caught,  Alice !     I  told  you  caught  before." 

"Taught."    With  conscientious  gravity.    "And  I  was  fightened." 

"Tell  Mr.  Charley  about  the  beetle,  Alice." 

"There  was  a  beetle — Oh,  the  dee-est  little  beetle — so  big,  like 
that — and  he  got  on  my  nose,  and  tickled — oh,  he  was  so  pretty — 
such  beautiful  colours!" 

"Go  on.    What  did  you  say  to  the  beetle  ?" 

"I  said — susposing  Dr.  Jomson  slides  down  atop  of  us,  what- 
ever shall  we  do  to  hold  him  up  ?" 

"What  indeed ?"  said  Charles.    "What  did  the  beetle  say?" 

"He  flowed  away  because  he  was  angry.  Angry  with  me!  Be- 
cause I  rubbed  him  off  my  nose  on  to  the  grast — grass."  A  con- 
scientious correction. 

"What  did  you  think  quite  first  thing  of  all,  Alice,"  asks 
Charles,  "when  you  first  went  over?" 

"I  thinked — I  thought — susposing  I  go  in  the  water,  and  Miss 
Peggy  she  comes  after  me,  and  Dr.  Jomson  he  comes  after  Miss 
Peggy — we  should  all  be  in  the  water  together." 

"Excuse  my  saying.  Miss  Kavanagh,  that  that  was  a  flat  and 
insipid  way  of  looking  at  the  position,  and  not  worthy  of  your 
youthful  promise."  Alice  stares.  Peggy  stimulates  her  memory  by 
a  word  or  two. 

"Yes,  Miss  Peggy — please !  I  wundled  and  wundled  and  wundled 
— susposing  we  was  all  in  the  water  together — ^poor  Mr.  Charley, 
what  would  he  do  wivout  us!  And  I  wanted  to  cry,  but  I  was 
fightened  it  would  jolt!  And  then  the  strong  man  came  up  be- 
hind— I  was  glad!  And  he  tied  me  up — don't  recollect  nuffint 
more!"  says  Alice,  breaking  off  abruptly,  and  shaking  her  head 
prohibitively. 

"And  here  we  are,"  says  Peggy.  "Really,  Miss  Kavanagh,  if 
you  don't  learn  to  say  nothing,  instead  of  nuffint,  I  shall  give 
warning  and  find  another  place." 

"Nothing,"  says  Alice,  forcibly  and  distinctly.  And  Peggy 
kisses  her.    We  hope  Alice  won't  be  spoiled. 

Said  Charles  to  Peggy,  next  morning  on  the  sands:  "Now  tell 
us  all  about  it,  Poggy-wogg."     For  the  fidl-up  household  in  the 


210  ALICE-FOE-SHOflTJ 

sea-side  house,  playing  at  games  overnight,  and  the  lawless  Chaos 
called  the  arrangement  of  plans  for  the  day,  in  the  morning,  had 
prevented  all  peaceful  commtmieation  between  the  brother  and 
sister;  and  mutual  tacit  sanction  had  been  given  by  each  to  the 
other's  deferred  questionings. 

"No!  First  you  tell  me.  Come  the  other  side  because  of  the 
smoke.  No — nearer  up  under  my  sunshade  and  then  I  can  ruffle 
your  hair  for  you.  Oh  dear!  It's  so  sticky  with  the  salt  water." 
For  there  had  been  swims  before  breakfast.  "No,  I  won't  tell  you 
anything  at  all  till  you've  told  me  a  great  lot — heaps!  Rupert 
came  to  see  you  yesterday — ^I  know  that  much — and  you  went 
home  and  dined  at  the  Gardens.    Now  go  on  after  that !" 

Charles,  enjoying  the  drowsy  spell  of  the  sea  after  so  long  a 
dose  of  the  stuffy  town,  was  able  to  listen  to  the  musical  plash  of 
the  waves  and  the  cry  of  the  sea-birds;  the  laughter  of  the  bathers 
and  their  voices;  the  even  beat  of  the  oars  helping  a  pleasure-boat 
with  windless  sails  over  a  mirror  towards  a  sheet  of  silver  that  may 
be  wind;  to  listen  to  and  enjoy  all  these,  and  yet  to  give,  in  easy 
instalments,  a  narrative  of  the  previous  day's  events.  He  began 
with  Rupert's  arrival  on  the  doorstep.  He  ascribed  his  scrupulous 
care  in  omitting  any  hint  of  Miss  Straker  (the  good  trying-on 
figure  passed  away  down  the  street  in  his  brain,  but  he  said  nothing 
about  it)  entirely  to  the  fact  that  the  bill  before  the  House  related 
to  Peggy,  not  to  himself.  He  would  keep  in  the  background,  and 
say  nothing  about  any  Miss  Strakers.    We  understand. 

He  judged  it  best  to  make  the  most  of  his  father's  little  exhibi- 
tion of  orthodox  obstacle-mongering,  and  Peggy  was  somewhat 
downcast  for  a  moment.  But  she  broke  into  a  happy  laugh  of 
relief  when  the  story  came  of  the  schoolfellowship.  "You  mustn't 
of  course  attach  too  much  weight  to  the  mere  fact  that  Paracelsus's 
father  was  at  school  with  yours,"  said  Charles,  solemnly. 

"Oh,  you  dear  prosy  old  boy !  The  idea !  Why,  of  course  there 
won't  be  any  bother  with  papa.  Just  fancy!  Fought  each  other 
every  term  for  six  terms !  Do  you  know,  I  really  believe  if  I  hated 
Rupert  (or  Paracelsus,  as  you  will  persist  in  calling  him)  Papa 
would  want  me  to  marry  him.  And  then  they  swopped  specimens. 
That's  what  Bob  and  Dan  are  always  doing.  I  wonder  if  that  was 
phosphorus  what's-his-name  that  tickled  Alice's  nose?" 

"Necrophorus  8epuUorf  No — ^he's  a  ghoul,  I  suppose — lives  on 
corpses.  By  the  bye  (only  it's  a  shame — he  isn't  a  ghoul  at  all), 
I  met  that  queer  fellow  Verrinder  in  the  train  yesterday.  I'll  tell 
you  about  him  presently." 

Peggy  didn't  show  any  interest  in  Verrinder.     But  the  ghoul 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  211 

made  her  think  of  something  she  was  wanting  to  talk  about.  "How 
about  that  ghost?" 

"Which  ghost?"  said  Charles.  He  didn't  want  to  tell  Peggy 
about  the  ghost  the  younger  Miss  Prynne  saw  on  the  stairs.  It 
didn't  seem  to  him  a  fit  ghost  for  Peggy.  Brothers  are  mighty 
particular,  we  can  tell  you! 

"I  didn't  know  there  were  two  ghosts — unless  you  count  Alice's 
private  ghost  with  the  spots?  I  meant  the  one  Rupert  told  me 
about — what  you  and  your  absurd  friend  (well!  he  is  absurd) 
saw." 

"I'll  teU  you  about  that  presently.  I  want  to  hear  more  about 
you  and  Paracelsus." 

"There's  nothing  left  to  tell,  dear  old  boy!  We  are  a  lady  and 
gentleman,  and  that's  all  about  it.  Here's  his  letter  that  came  this 
morning — six  pages!  And  what's  more  I've  read  every  word — 
yes! — while  all  that  racket  was  going  on,  before  we  came  out. 
I'm  dreadfully  ashamed  of  myself,  though,  if  you  ask  me.  Here's 
a  little  bit  of  postscript  I  haven't  read " 

"There's  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of — ^you're  not  the  only  lady  and 
gentleman." 

"I  didn't  mean  that — I  meant,  all  my  good  resolutions !  This  is 
about  you."  And  Peggy,  having  excited  as  much  curiosity  in 
Charles  as  can  be  felt  after  bathing  in  the  sea  before  breakfast, 
and  then  treating  breakfast  seriously,  and  then  settling  down  to 
smoke  in  the  sun  under  favourable  circumstances — after  doing  this 
Peggy  becomes  absorbed  in  the  letter,  with  an  animated  serious 
countenance.  "One  can't  wonder  at  Paracelsus,"  thinks  Charles,  as 
he  looks  drowsily  at  it. 

"Who  was  the  nice  ladylike  girl  who  went  away  down  the  street  ?" 
Peggy's  question  is,  or  would  be  to  a  bystander,  merely  a  ques- 
tion— quite  free  of  implications  of  any  sort.  But  Charles's  nature 
was  not  cunning  enough  to  see  that  his  safest  course  would  be 
to  say  it  was  only  Miss  Thiselton,  and  explain  her  afterwards. 
"Let's  have  a  look  at  the  letter,"  said  he,  as  if  he  couldn't  tell  who 
it  was  without  the  context. 

"Well?"  said  Peggy,  interrogatively,  a  few  moments  later;  for 
Charles  read,  and  made  no  sign. 

"Well  what?" 

"Who  was  the  nice  ladylike  girl  ?" 

"The  nice  ladylike  girl?"  Charles  pretended  he  was  inter- 
ested in  another  part  of  the  letter.  "Oh  yes — of  course  not! 
Let's  see — the  nice  ladylike  girl — that  must  have  been  Miss 
Thiselton." 


212  ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 

"Of  course  it  must !  Who  else  could  it  have  been  T  There  is  a 
spirit  of  mischief  in  this:  but  the  fact  is,  that  Peggy  always  sees 
clean  through  her  brother,  as  though  he  were  plate  glass. 

"You  don't  knew  Miss  Thiselton.  You've  never  seen  her,"  says 
he.    Peggy's  answer  revealed  the  weakness  of  his  position. 

"Dear  silly  old  Charley!  As  if  there  were  a  hundred  and  fifty 
nice  ladylike  girls  sand-hopping  about  all  over  the  Studio  just  that 
minute  when  Rupert  came  in.  You  are  such  a  dear  transparent 
boy!"  Certainly,  make-believe  wasn't  Charles's  strong  point.  He 
never  made  any  one  believe.  But  then,  he  always  confessed  up, 
candidly. 

"Miss  Thiselton,  or  whatever  her  name  is,  isn't  a  secret.  I'm 
painting  Regan's  head  from  her.    She's  very  like  Regan ^" 

"That's  a  recommendation!" 

" to  look  at.    But  she's  not  at  all  like  her  in  character." 


"How  do  you  know  that?"  Oh  dear,  how  sharp  people's  sisters 
are  sometimes!  However,  Charley  had  to  justify  his  estimate  of 
Miss  Thiselton,  somehow. 

"I'm  only  guessing."  He  tried  to  recall  something  that  would 
accredit  the  young  woman,  and  felt  the  land  rather  barren.  "You 
ought  to  sympathise  with  her,  Poggy-Woggy,  anyhow;  she  has  a 

younger  brother  who's  a  source  of  anxiety  to  her "     Charles 

has  a  ridiculous,  half -humorous  expression  as  he  says  this. 

"Oh,  Charley  dear !  You  never  were,  and  never  will  be,  a  source 
of  anxiety  to  me.  Only  you  are  so  good-natured.  What  does  Miss 
Thiselton's  younger  brother  do  to  make  her  anxious  ?" 

"Oh,  runs  into  debt  and  she  has  to  save  his  life.  He's  not  a  bad 
boy,  but  silly." 

"Well!  That's  like  you,  too!  But  now,  dear  old  boy,  listen  to 
me  quite  seriously.  How  much  money  have  you  lent  Miss  Thisel- 
ton to  help  her  with  her  younger  brother  ?" 

"How  do  you  know  I've  lent  her  any  ?"  says  Charley,  feebly. 

"Oh,  you  are  the  transparentest,  dearest  old  boy."  And  Peggy 
doesn't  press  the  subject,  but  goes  on  ruffling  her  brother's  hair 
for  him.  After  a  little,  Charles,  who  always  ends  by  complete  con- 
fession, after  making  nobody  believe  anything  at  all,  resumes  the 
conversation. 

"I  want  to  do  Miss  Thiselton  a  good  turn  if  I  can.  She  says  she 
has  a  very  fine  voice " 

"She  says  she  has  ?" 

"Well — she's  a  little  odd  about  it,  certainly."  Charles  gives 
particulars,  briefly,  of  Miss  Straker's  story  of  the  voice.  "You 
see,  if  she  could  get  some  evening  engagements,  it  would  be  time 


ALICE-rOE-SHOKT  213 

enough  to  be  discouraged  when  the  voice  actually  did  break  down — 
which  it  may  never  do  again.  I'm  sure  we  could  find  some  one  to 
give  her  an  opening." 

"Of  course  we  could.  Any  number,  if  the  voice  is  really  fine. 
But  one  must  know.  How  if  I  were  to  come  to  the  Studio  to  hear 
her  sing,  when  we  come  back?" 

"I've  promised  to  call  at  her  mother's  next  week  to  hear  her."  At 
which  a  passing  look  of  concern  rests  for  a  few  seconds  on  Peggy's 
face;  a  slight  phase  of  apprehension.  Are  such  simple  brothers 
as  this  one  of  hers  to  be  trusted  in  the  jaws  of  Miss  Thiseltons 
with  splendid  voices  and  French  mothers  ?  She  hoped  he  was — but 
hardly  felt  that  cautions  from  her  would  be  of  any  service.  In 
fact  that  they  might  precipitate  instead  of  avert.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  safe — why  should  she  be  so  nervous?  She  changed  the  subject. 
"But  when  am  I  to  hear  about  the  Ghost?"  Charles  was  not  sorry 
to  get  away  from  Miss  Thiselton  or  Straker.  Fortunately  he  had 
said  nothing  about  profiles,  or  eyelids.  And  as  for  the  Park,  of 
course  that  wasn't  Miss  Straker.  He  decided  on  a  platform  of 
Incredulity  to  tell  about  the  ghost  from. 

"I  don't  believe  it  was  a  ghost  at  all.  It  was  a  lady  who  went 
away  without  making  a  noise."  And  he  describes  all  the  circum- 
stances, closely  enough;  but  he  shirks  doing  full  justice  to  the 
intractable  character  of  the  door-lock,  as  a  resource  for  explana- 
tion to  go  to.  Peggy  is  sure  she  could  pull  that  door  to,  and  make 
no  noise.  This  groundless  pretension  piques  Charles,  who  resumes 
the  door,  and  intensifies  its  fastenings. 

"What  was  the  figure  like  to  look  at?"  Peggy  asks,  thinking 
perhaps  that  if  the  door  was  as  competent  as  all  that,  it  might  be 
worth  concession  of  possible  ghost-ship,  under  protest,  to  examine 
into  the  personnel  of  the  spectre. 

"You  see  my  glasses  were  on  the  ground,  and  Jeff  was  pegging 
away  at  Terpsichore.  She  left  an  impression  of  a  grey  head  and  a 
good  deal  of  crinoline.  I  saw  the  white  hair  as  she  stooped,  in  a 
puff  on  the  top " 

"But,  Charley  dear,  you  couldn't  see  it  as  she  stooped  unless  she 
had  no  hat  or  bonnet  on." 

"No,  that's  true.  It  was  funny..  But  it  was  only  an  impression. 
It  all  happened  in  an  instant;  and  how  was  I  to  know  who  would 
or  wouldn't  come  into  Mr.  Bauerstein's  gallery?" 

"It  was  a  ghost,  Charley,  it  was  a  ghost !"  But  Charles  discerns 
the  mocking  tone  in  this,  and  is  hurt.  He  wants  to  do  the  ridicule 
himself,  and  other  people  to  take  the  ghost's  case  up,  that  he  may 
pelt  them. 


214  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

"I  don't  see  why  you  believe  in  Alice's  ghost  and  make  game  of 
mine,"  he  says. 

"Well  then !  He  shall  have  a  little  ghost  for  himself  he  shall — 
if  he's  good!  But  it  really  is  very  curious,  now,  isn't  it?  Seri- 
ously ?"  Peggy  feels  that  Frivolity  ought  to  give  place  to  Psychical 
Research.    Charles  accepts  the  position. 

"We  could  turn  on  a  Medium  or  a  Clairvoyant.  Jeff  knows 
one  who  saw  fourpence  in  a  child's  stomach,  and  they  had  to  turn 
it  upside  down  and  shake  it." 

"Fourpence  in  coppers?"  says  Peggy,  immediately  on  the  alert 
on  the  child's  behalf.  "Oh  dear!  I  hope  it  wasn't  fourpence  in 
coppers  ?" 

"I  suppose  it  was  a  tanner.  Pll  ask  Jeff."  But  Peggy  looks 
very  uncomfortable.  "I'll  remember  to  ask,"  Charles  continues. 
"Anyhow,  medium  or  no,  I  tell  you  what  I  will  do.  I'll  hunt  up 
poor  old  Verrinder  again — did  I  tell  you  I  met  him  coming  along  ?" 

"Yes,  you  said  so — at  Waterloo." 

"I'll  go  to  see  him  again,  and  try  to  find  more  about  the  house 
and  the  people  that  had  it.  I'll  make  a  point  of  going.  What 
was  the  name  of  the  people  ?    Lemuel,  wasn't  it  ?" 

"No,  not  Lemuel — Tremlett,  I  think  it  was.  I  know  there  was  an 
R  in  it."  Which  was  an  example  of  the  sort  of  attention  a  story 
receives  from  the  amateur  Psychophil.  Fancy  the  feelings  of  a 
ghost  that  is  concerned  to  reveal  buried  treasure  to  impoverished 
heirs !    Alas,  poor  ghost ! 


CHAPTER  XX 

OF  MISS  STRAKER's  COLD,  AND  HOW  CHARLES  WENT  TO  SEE  HER  AFTER. 
OF  HER  GOBLIN  MOTHER,  AND  HOW  CHARLES  SPOKE  FRENCH.  OF  A 
CHAT  AFTER  MUSIC,  IN  THE  DUSK 

When  Charles  said  adieu  to  Peggy  and  Alice  and  other  members 
of  his  family  a  week  later,  at  the  little  railway  station,  his  sister's 
last  injunction  to  him  was  to  go  and  see  Verrinder  and  pump  him 
well  about  his  knowledge  of  No.  40.  Charles  said  he  would  make  a 
point  of  it.  That  is  such  an  incisive  expression  that  it  misleads; 
one  who  uses  it  is  apt  to  feel  that  promise  in  such  terms  is  almost 
as  good  as  performance,  and  that  he  has  already  done  his  duty. 
It  is  also  clear  that  anything  you  are  going  to  make  a  point  of  can 
be  "stood  over"  for  special  attention  later,  while  anything  you 
are  not  making  a  point  of  had  better  be  done  right  off,  or  it  may 
get  forgotten.  But  it  may  be  we  are,  in  saying  this,  only  trying 
to  concoct  excuses  for  poor  Charley,  who  is  rather  a  favourite  of 
ours.  Better  perhaps  admit  at  once  that  he  ought  to  have  gone 
to  see  Verrinder,  and  he  didn't. 

What  a  pity  he  could  not  forget  his  promise  to  Miss  Straker  to 
go  and  hear  her  sing!  Perhaps  if  his  recollecting  it  had  involved 
an  admission  that  he  was  interested  in  a  ghost,  he  would  have  for- 
gotten. And  then  who  knows  how  differently  many  things  might 
have  gone?  What  a  pity  one  cannot  always  foresee  everything 
and  arrange  accordingly! 

He  had  done  a  good  deal,  in  the  sweet  drowsy  world  of  the 
Devon  beach — surely  in  such  a  place  the  Lotus  is  at  its  best — 
to  forget  all  about  the  profile  and  the  eyelid  and  the  voice  that  was 
to  follow.  But  he  had  not  carried  oblivion  far  enough  to  have 
no  curiosity  about  what  it  was  he  had  nearly  forgotten.  This 
curiosity  would  be  satisfied  when  Miss  Straker  reappeared  for 
her  next  sitting.  He  was  quite  clear  in  his  own  mind  that  he  could 
satisfy  it  without  danger.  As  to  the  visit  for  the  purpose  of  hear- 
ing her  voice,  that  was  business,  don't  you  see?  He  took  good 
care  to  keep  that  separate.  It  was  a  promise,  and  he  was  bound  in 
honour  to  fulfil  it. 

Miss   Straker  was  punctual  to  her  engagement.     She  looked 

215 


216  ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 

plain,  and  had  a  cold.  Charles  wasn't  quite  sure  whether  he  was 
glad  or  sorry  for  this.  On  the  whole,  he  was  inclined  to  be  glad.  It 
justified  him  in  not  being  in  love  with  her — which  he  never  had 
been,  of  course !  But  it  is  always  pleasant  to  feel  that  one  has  been 
justified. 

The  weather  had  gone  off — lost  all  its  beauty.  Things  generally 
had  collapsed  and  become  flat.  They  had  changed  also  at  Sheila- 
combe  on  the  day  he  came  away.  But  on  the  Atlantic  when  the 
weather  changes,  things  don't  go  in  the  direction  of  flatness. 
Giant  rollers  were  pouring  in  at  Shellacombe,  and  bathing  was  a 
thing  of  the  past.  While  Alice  was  enjoying  the  experience  of 
her  first  really  rough  sea,  Charles  was  wondering  what  possessed 
him  to  promise  to  hear  Miss  Straker  sing.  He  wasn't  much  vexed 
though  at  things  being  so  flat.  It  put  matters  on  a  clear  footing — 
a  business  footing,  in  a  certain  sense.  He  was  determined  not  to 
allow  them  to  get  on  any  other.  He  would  get  Miss  Straker  one 
or  two  good  introductions — if  she  really  had  a  fine  voice — and 
then  he  would  wash  his  hands  of  her. 

If  Charles's  communings  with  himself  strike  you  as  being  rather 
unreasonable,  take  this  into  account:  that  he  was  constantly  deny- 
ing the  young  lady's  identity  with  that  woman  in  the  Park.  Con- 
tinual denials  are  like  creeds,  of  which  it  has  been  said  that  no 
man  ever  recites  one  until  he  doubts  its  substance.  Even  so  no 
man  formulates  his  disbelief  in  anything  until  he  doubts  its  false- 
hood. If  he  had  not  been  haunted  by  a  misgiving  that  that  woman 
was  really  Miss  Straker,  it  would  not  have  been  necessary  to  dis- 
believe it  so  frequently.  He  tried  to  think  of  subtle  ways  of  elicit- 
ing from  her  where  she  had  been  on  that  Eegents  Park  occasion. 
But  Charles  had  doubts  of  his  own  powers  of  finesse.  He  could 
not  even  deceive  himself.  If  he  had  been  able,  do  you  suppose 
he  would  have  been  such  an  inveterate  self -examiner  ?  No!  He 
would  have  allowed  himself  peace  and  quiet. 

Miss  Straker  was  to  get  over  that  cold  before  he  went  to  hear 
the  voice.  Charles  seized  the  opportunity  to  throw  an  almost 
hard-hearted  tone  into  his  recognition  of  the  fact  that  this  didn't 
matter.  Any  time  would  do — that  suited  the  vocalist.  His  time 
wasn't  hers  exactly,  but  he  would  be  sure  to  be  able  to  find  an  hour 
or  so. 

In  this  story  (perhaps  you  may  have  noticed  it?)  some  of  the 
characters  are  known  to  and  understood  by  us,  the  writer,  down  to 
the  ground.  Others  there  are  whom  we  can  make  no  profession  of 
understanding.    We  can  only  conjecture  and  surmise  about  their 


ALICE-FOK-SHOET  217 

motives  and  feelings.  Never  mind  why  this  is  so;  include  Miss 
Straker  in  the  latter  class,  make  Charles  the  most  conspicuous 
character  in  the  former,  and  ask  no  questions. 

Whether  the  young  woman  said  to  herself  that  so  long  as  he 
ended  by  coming  to  the  house  and  hearing  her  sing,  the  interim, 
was  of  no  importance,  we  have  no  means  of  knowing.  It  is  possi- 
ble that  we  do  her  great  injustice  by  speculating  on  that  point. 
And  remember  this  too,  that,  admitting  that  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  entangle  Charles  and  capture  him,  she  was  not,  so  far  as 
we  can  see,  playing  the  game  unfairly.  For  it  is  a  game  every 
woman  has  a  right  to  play — as  good  a  right  as  the  swimmer  has 
to  strike  out  for  the  shore.  Remember  too  the  stakes  she  puts  on 
the  table. 

You  may  also,  if  you  like,  ascribe  to  Miss  Straker  a  feeling  of 
dignity,  and  believe  that  this  prompted  her  to  have  a  cold  and  be 
rather  morose  and  sulky  during  that  interim;  a  feeling  which  said 
to  her  that  she  was  not  going  to  entrap  this  guileless  and  trans- 
parent young  man,  and  bring  him  within  reach  of  a  prehensile  par- 
ent, with  any  ulterior  motives.  Why,  see!  Was  she  not  sniffing, 
and  being  as  unattractive  as  possible?  You  are  welcome  to  this 
view.  It  isn't  ours.  According  to  us,  the  cold  was  oppressive,  and 
she  felt  quite  sure  of  Mr.  Heath  when  it  had  gone,  and  she  wasn't 
going  to  exert  herself  to  be  pleasant  until  (so  to  speak)  it  should 
be  worth  putting  capital  into  the  venture. 

"But  then  that  makes  her  out  such  a  cold-blooded  character !"  we 
fancy  we  hear  you  saying.  Does  it?  And  suppose  it  does,  how 
do  we  know  she  wasn't? 

Anyhow,  about  a  week  after  his  return — a  week  including  three 
sittings  of  Regan — Charles  found  himself  on  his  way  to  Warren 
Street,  Camden  Town.  He  chose  a  day  when  Regan  had  been  in 
abeyance,  so  that  no  question  of  a  personally  conducted  tour  should 
come  in.  It  isn't  called  Warren  Street,  now,  and  there  is  no  use 
your  looking  for  it  under  that  name.  We  believe  it  is  called 
Delancey  Street;  if  so,  we  prefer  the  former  name.  Charles  was 
just  a  little  discomposed  to  find  from  Miss  Straker  that  the  pleas- 
antest  way  to  walk  was  to  cross  Regents  Park  to  Gloucester  Gate, 
and  then  go  past  the  York  &  Albany  and  turn  to  the  right.  When 
she  gave  him  her  address  before,  he  did  not  associate  Camden 
Town  with  Regents  Park.  Subjectively,  that  Park  began  for 
him  either  at  Hanover  Gate,  or  some  point  in  the  Marylebone  Road. 
If  you  went  through  it,  you  came  out  at  Primrose  Hill,  probably. 
But  you  might  get  to  Hampstead,  or  Highgate,  or  Berwick-on- 


218  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

Tweed.  Now  Charles's  only  active  mental  association  with  Camden 
Town  was  a  street  called  Osnaburgh  Street,  that  you  went  to  from 
King's  Station,  and  came  away  from  as  soon  as  you  possibly 
could.  So  when  Regents  Park  came  into  court,  Charles  wished  it 
somewhere  else.  He  drove  it  out  by  reflecting  that  where  he  saw 
the  woman  was  no  nearer  Camden  Town  than — than  places  gener- 
ally are. 

It  was  a  wild  and  gusty  afternoon,  bred  of  premature  equinoc- 
tials, when  he  found  himself  knocking  at  the  door  of  a  two-win- 
dowed house  opposite  to  a  tavern  in  a  garden  that  overhung  the 
railroad,  which  at  this  point  was  in  a  deep  trench,  braced  against 
landslips  by  iron  girders.  The  dwellers  near  by  live  in  an  incessant 
roar  and  rush  of  passing  trains,  and  as  Charles  arrived  a  tunnel- 
mouth  was  about  to  throw  up  a  train  shortly;  but  had  only,  so 
far,  covered  the  tavern  aforesaid  with  smoke.  It  came,  in  a  lei- 
surely sort  of  way,  as  he  looked  out  of  the  first-floor  window, 
waiting  for  a  sloppy  servant-girl  to  say  "Mr.  Heath"  in  some  other 
part  of  the  house.  He  had  told  her  to  say  it,  in  the  passage;  but 
by  mutual  consent  the  recitation  had  been  deferred.  He  was  con- 
scious that  the  voice  of  Miss  Straker  asked  suspiciously  if  he  had 
been  shown  into  the  drawing-room:  evidently  he  had  had  a  narrow 
escape  of  being  left  waiting  "in  the  hall."  He  could  not  have 
said  after  whether  he  heard  this,  or  whether  it  was  a  reading  of  the 
character  of  the  sloppy  servant  that  enforced  it  as  a  corollary. 
He  caught  more  clearly  a  French  remark :  "Tu  as  beau  me  gronder. 
Je  veux  le  porter.  Je  ne  suis  pas  encore  si  vieille";  and  Miss 
Straker's  reply:  "Ah,  mon  Dieu!  La  belle  chose  que  d'avoir  une 
mere  qui  s'habille  en  f  arf  adet — en  lutin !"  It  was  odd  to  Charles  to 
hear  her  fluent  French  after  his  judgments  of  her  for  affectation 
of  acquaintance  with  the  language.  Perhaps  some  of  her  defects 
of  English  speech  were  due  to  her  early  up-bringing.  He  then 
heard  her  say  impatiently:  "Allons,  ma  mere.  Monsieur  nous 
attend !"  and  her  mother :  "Descends — descends !  Tu  f ais  toujours 
le  brouillamini.  Descendez  aussi  le  caniche";  and  then  Miss 
Straker  appeared,  preceded  by  a  poodle.  They  had  been  very  audi- 
ble on  an  upper  landing  as  the  door  was  wide  open,  and  perhaps 
had  been  less  careful  about  being  heard  as  folks  are  when  they 
speak  their  own  tongue  abroad. 

The  young  lady  was  certainly  looking  her  best,  and  Charles  was 
sorry.  He  wanted  to  feel  secure  in  his  entrenchments;  and  that 
Peggy's  apprehensions,  which  he  saw  as  clearly  as  she  saw  through 
him,  should  turn  out  groundless.  If  they  could  be  proved  to  have 
no  foundation  up  to  date,  independent  impulses  in  the  future, 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  219 

quite  -unconnected  with  the  previous  profile  and  eyelid,  might  re- 
main an  open  question.  Not  that  he  wanted  Miss  Straker  at  home 
to  prove  repulsive.  She  was  welcome  to  a  certain  allowance  of 
comeliness — but  it  was  to  be  exactly  enough  to  make  his  visit  pleas- 
ant, without  making  him  feel  shy  of  what  he  should  have  to  report 
to  Peggy,  who  was  always  headquarters  with  him. 

"Mamma  will  be  down  directly,"  said  Miss  Straker,  and  shook 
hands  unprofessionally.  The  venue  was  changed,  and  she  was  no 
longer  even  a  half-fledged  Model,  but  a  young  lady  unexplained. 
"Would  you  like  tea,  Mr.  Heath?  Shall  we  have  tea  now,  or  shall 
I  sing?  I  think  I  shall  sing  better,  after  tea.  What  do  you 
think?  I  think  Tea."  And  as  Charles  thought  Tea  too,  she 
pulled  a  bell  which'  didn't  ring.  "Would  you  be  so  kind  as  to  pull 
that  other  one,  Mr.  Heath?  Sometimes  this  one  doesn't  ring." 
Charles  did  so,  and  felt  an  inch  further  inside  the  family  circle. 
He  had  pulled  one  bell  on  one  side  of  the  hearth — she  had  pulled 
the  opposite  one.  All  these  little  things  have  an  effect  on  life,  for 
better  or  worse. 

"Here  is  Mr.  Heath,  Mamma,  in  here,"  she  continued,  going 
to  the  door;  and  Charles  thereon  thought  he  caught  the  words 
"Toujours  gouvernante — je  n'en  ai  pas  besoin!"  in  a  miffy  under- 
tone from  the  old  lady.  Her  daughter  may  have  governessed  her, 
but  there  was  no  doubt  about  her  appearance — it  was  distinctly 
goblin-like.  Charles,  describing  her  afterwards  to  Peggy,  could 
only  testify  to  brilliant  parti-coloured  ribbons,  like  flames  that 
appeared  to  radiate  in  every  direction  from  a  little  old  (or  oldish) 
woman  who  might  have  been  good-looking  once,  but  not  on  her 
daughter's  lines.  If  she  had  been  good-looking,  it  would  have 
been  piquancy,  quite  free  from  anji;hing  the  least  serpentine. 

"I  am  very  pliz-to-see.  You-Misterre-Eace."  The  good  lady 
speaks  English  right  enough,  with  only  an  occasional  French 
phrase,  but  cuts  her  sentences  into  segments,  independently  of 
their  meaning,  usually  ending  each  segment  in  the  middle  of  a 
word,  and  with  an  overpowering  French  accent:  "If  I  wass  at- 
liberre.  Tee  to  sank  you  ass  I  shoode  laigue.  You  woode  not  find 
me  ingrate.  But  I  am  underre  the  sum  of  my  daugh.  Terre  and 
she  will  not  all.  Ow  me  to  spik."  This  is  the  nearest  we  can  man- 
age to  Mrs.  Straker's  English,  phonetically.  She  ended  in  French 
for  the  benefit  of  her  daughterre.  "En  effet.  Mademoiselle  me 
tient  toujours  en  frein";  and  her  daughter,  who  was  making  the 
tea,  said  parenthetically,  "You  mustn't  mind  Mamma,  Mr.  Heath." 

The  bystander  of  a  family  tiff  never  knows  what  to  say,  and 
perhaps   is  safest  saying  nothing.     But  as  Charles  had  hardly 


220  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

opened  his  mouth  in  the  house  before  the  battle,  he  felt  he  really 
must  speak  at  the  armistice,  not  to  appear  taciturn.  "I'm  sure 
Miss  Straker  bullies  you  awfully,  Madame,"  he  said,  eluding  the 
question  of  the  gratitude.  "But  I  mustn't  quarrel  with  her  about 
it,  and  upset  the  apple-cart,  or  she'll  throw  me  over  and  I  shan't 
be  able  to  get  my  head  done."  But  though  Madame  speaks  fair  Eng- 
lish, subject  to  amendments,  she  does  not  know  all  its  slang  and 
■colloquialisms. 

"Throw  you  ovare?  Comment!  Ovare  where?"  And  Made- 
moiselle explains :  "Monsieur  a  peur  qu'il  soit  bouleverse  au  milieu 
de  son  travail — que  je  lui  manque  si  nous  nous  desaccordons."  This 
is  accompanied  by  a  shaking-off  action  of  the  hand  not  employed 
tea-making,  to  illustrate.  It  is  a  very  pretty  white  hand — there  is 
no  doubt  of  that ! 

"Ma  foi,  non!  But  now  I  underr.  Stant  what  you  mean. 
*Throw  you  ovare' — it  is  slanck — argot." 

"That's  it!  We're  a  slangy  lot — we  English.  Americans  are 
•worse.  I  don't  think  you're  much  to  boast  of,  nowadays,  in  Paris." 
But  it  is  almost  as  difficult  to  speak  limited  English  that  a  for- 
eigner will  be  sure  to  understand,  as  to  speak  another  language. 
The  goblin  is  puzzled,  and  her  daughter  has  to  interpret. 

"Monsieur  dit — que  nous  autres,  nous  sommes  aussi  argoteux, 
comme  les  Anglais — comme  les  Americains." 

"Ainsi  disait  toujours  ton  pere — ze  Dictionnaire  was  gone  to  ze 
Deville.  Mon  mari.  Monsieur,  my  oz-band."  Charles  felt  that 
interpretation,  carried  this  length,  reflected  on  his  education,  and 
began  trying  his  own  hand  at  French,  rashly  perhaps. 

"Je  puis  parler  un  peu  Frangais,  mais  je  n'ose  pas,  parcequo 
j'ai  toujours  peur  d'user  les " 

"Mais  oui — mais  oui — continuez!  Tout  va  bien — ^Monsieur  n'a 
pas  du  s'arreter."  But  Charles  has  to  go  helplessly  to  the  daughter 
to  be  rescued.    He  laughed  at  himself. 

"There  now,  you  see,  I  wanted  to  say  that  I  was  always  afraid  of 
using  the  wrong  words— what's  the  French  for  'the  wrong  words'  ?" 
Neither  mother  nor  daughter  are  very  prompt  to  reply.  One  says 
*'parler  inexactement,"  the  other,  "parler  a  travers." 

"Yes,  but  what's  the  exact  French  for  'the  wrong  words'  ?  That's 
what  I  want  to  know !" 

"Peut-etre  les  mots  inexacts — ^les  mots  mal-choisis." 

"Then  when  I  got  the  wrong  umbrella  in  Paris  and  wanted  to 
teU  the  man  at  the  Hotel  it  was  the  wrong  umbrella,  ought  I  to 
have  said  le  parapluie  inexact,  or  mal-choisi  ?" 

"Won't  you  have  another  cup  of  tea  ?   You've  had  two  ? — yes,  but 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  221 

have  another.  No?  Very  well,  then.  Now  we'll  have  music. 
Would  you  be  so  kind  as  to  close  that  window,  Mr.  Heath  ?  You're 
nearest  to  it."     Charles  did  as  requested. 

"Hope  you  haven't  been  feeling  cold  ?"  he  said. 

"Oh  no!  It  isn't  that.  It's  because  it  sounds  so  in  the  street, 
and  the  people  stop.  What  sort  of  music  do  you  like  best,  Mr. 
Heath?    Gounod's  Berceuse?    Will  that  do?" 

"Certainly,  but  anything  you  like " 

"Gluck?" 

"By  all  means !    Whatever  you  yourself  prefer." 

"I  don't  care.  One  song's  the  same  as  another.  Perhaps  I  sing- 
this  best.  I'm  sorry  our  room's  so  small,  Mr.  Heath.  Never  mind 
turning  over.    I  can  do  that.    You'll  hear  best  in  your  old  place." 

The  song  was  the  Gounod  she  had  mentioned.  It  was  a  song^ 
Charles  had  never  cared  for;  it  wasn't  in  his  line.  He  would  have 
preferred  some  Gluck.  But  the  voice !  It  was  simply  bewildering — 
that  is  to  say,  bewildering  as  coming  from  a  young  person  to  all 
seeming  so  unmusical.  For  Charles  had  decided  in  his  mind  that 
she  was  an  altogether  unmusical  character.  Probably  she  was. 
But  her  voice  was  superb,  for  all  that. 

She  followed  on  with  a  stornello  of  Gordigiani  and  then  "Pur 
Dicesti,"  and  others;  but  seeming  quite  indifferent  to  which  she 
sang,  or  what  sort  of  music.  It  was  apparently  only  necessary 
that  it  should  be  a  tax  on  any  ordinary  singer's  high  notes.  She 
seemed  perfectly  happy  at  the  top  of  the  human  gamut,  singing 
with  a  piano  tuned  up  to  concert  pitch.  Charles  sat  on,  sat  on, 
listening  to  one  song  after  another.  The  dusk  of  the  evening 
grew,  and  the  goblin  went  to  sleep  in  an  armchair,  and  woke  with 
starts  at  snore-crises,  and  said  ma  foi,  she  had  been  presque 
endormie!  But  Charles  still  sat  on,  and  another  song  came.  At 
last  Miss  Straker  said  we  should  have  to  have  lights,  and  she  was 
sorry,  because  it  was  much  nicer  without.  After  half-a-dozen  songs 
at  least,  there  could  be  no  immediate  hurry  for  more,  if  only  from 
mercy  to  the  singer.  Also  acoustic  advantages  of  distance  from 
the  music  ceased  and  determined.  To  remain  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room  would  surely  appear  needlessly  stiff  and  ceremonious — 
for  the  goblin's  protests  at  intervals  covered  all  reasonable  claims 
of  chaperonage.  Charles  crossed  over  to  the  piano,  and  sat  beside 
it  in  the  half-dark.  He  was  a  little  intoxicated  with  the  music. 
But  he  was  conscious  of  a  wish  to  retain  formality  of  relations, 
provisionally  at  any  rate.  He  could  make  any  concessions  at  any 
time;  but,  if  he  committed  himself  by  a  word,  he  could  not  with 
his  ideas  of  honour  retract  one  letter  of  it. 


222  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

"I  cannot  understand,"  he  said,  "what  you  told  me  about  the 
voice  breaking  down.  You  have  sung  to  me  for  quite  an  hour  and 
a  half,  and  there  seems  no  sign  of  fatigue." 

"None  whatever !  But  it  might  break  down  now  at  this  moment ; 
anything  the  least  upsetting — a  person  I  did  not  like  coming  into 
the  room — ^might  do  it." 

"But  how  does  it  break  down?" 

"Simply  stops " 

"Would  you  be  afraid  of  taking  an  evening  engagement — to  sing 
at  a  party?" 

"Not  a  bit!  Only  the  people  might  be  disappointed.  I  should 
be  obliged  to  tell.  None  of  the  agents  will  recommend  me  because 
of  it.  I  broke  down  at  a  swell  party  at  Lord  Ealing's,  and  it  was 
my  last  chance  with  the  agents.    It  had  happened  before." 

"And  you  could  go  on  singing  now,  and  have  no  fear  of  a  break- 
down?" 

"Singing  to  you — ^none  whatever."  The  accent  on  you  was  very 
slight.  It  might  have  meant  anything  from  "you  alone,  whom  of 
all  other  I  would  soonest  sing  to,"  to  "you  when  you  are  the  only 
person  in  the  room,  and  not  such  an  important  one  neither."  Per- 
haps Charles  ought  to  have  had  a  greater  alacrity  towards  the  latter 
interpretation.  He  did  not  catch  at  it.  After  all,  he  was  not  such 
a  stoic  that  sentimental  confidences  with  a  head  of  very  beautiful 
hair  at  least,  two  side  faces  that  taken  apart  were  certainly  very 
interesting,  and  a  hand  that  gleamed  white  in  the  dusk  on  the  key- 
board, should  have  no  charms  for  him.  Charles  was  young,  and 
male,  and  dangerously  inexperienced  for  his  age  in  the  range  of  his 
own  susceptibilities.  He  fondly  imagined  that  a  limited  study  of 
Peggy  and  her  friends  had  given  him  an  insight  into  womankind. 
As  if  they  had  ever — even  Peggy  herself — told  him  the  whole  truth 
about  anything!  And  if  he  had  been  told  now,  that  this  girl  was 
saying  to  herself,  "I  have  only  to  wait  quietly,  and  this  young 
man  will  jump  down  my  throat  of  his  own  accord,"  he  would  have 
repudiated  the  suggestion  indignantly.  Mind  you,  we  are  not  say- 
ing any  such  thing  was  true;  and  we  have  no  means  of  fathoming 
Miss  Straker's  thoughts  as  she  sits  sketching  a  slow  tune  with  her 
finger  tips  on  the  silent  piano,  with  Charles — well !  a  little  farther 
off  would  have  been  safer — thinking  to  himself  that  we  could  do 
without  the  lights  a  bit  longer.  We  are  only  saying  if  Charles 
had  been  told  this  he  would  have  snapped  the  teller's  head  off; 
while  we  should  have  said,  "May  be  so — may  be  not !" 

"Surely  the  model  business  must  be  very  distasteful  to  you?" 

"Money  has  to  be  earned,  Mr.  Heath.     Of  course  when  Mamma 


ALICE-FOK-SHOET  223 

and  I  came  to  London  we  thought  the  singing  was  going  to  be  a 
great  success.  Pesciatino  was  so  hopeful.  You  must  not  think  it 
was  put  aside  too  easily.  We  made  many  trials  before  we  gave  up. 
But  of  course  one  cannot  like  sitting  to  artists.  No  woman  could. 
Oh  dear !    What  am  I  saying  ?" 

"Why  not?     I  quite  understand." 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  you  when  I  said  artists.  I  am  glad  to 
sit  for  you,  Mr.  Heath."  Surely  there  was  no  need  to  qualify  this, 
**At  least — I  mean — Well!  I  only  mean — artists  are  not  all  alike. 
Hadn't  we  better  have  the  lamp  ?     Just  listen  to  Mamma !" 

"I  like  sitting  in  the  half -dark." 

"So  do  I.  But  she  won't  sleep  at  night,  if  she  goes  on  like 
that."  And  the  conversation  ran  on,  or  sauntered  on,  like  this — 
Charles  couldn't  have  said  how  long — till  a  clock  struck  and  he 
jumped  up  suddenly  saying  he  must  be  gone,  it  being  seven  o'clock, 
by  Jove,  and  he  had  no  idea ! 

"Maman,  eveille-toi !  Monsieur  s'en  va — II  veut  te  f aire  ses 
adieux."  But  the  goblin  denied  having  been  asleep,  and  Charles 
took  his  leave,  saying  that  he  should  certainly  try  what  he  could 
do  in  the  way  of  evening  engagements  for  Miss  Straker. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

HOW  CHARLES  WENT  TO  BELGIUM,  AND  CAME  BACK.  HOW  MISS  STRAKER 
SANG  TILL  ELEVEN  o'OLOCK.  ALICE's  SPECIMEN.  PROPHETIC  POLLY. 
HOW  CHARLES  COULD  LOOK  HIS  SISTER  STRAIGHT  IN  THE  FACE  ABOUT 
MISS    STRAKER 

When  Charles  next  saw  his  sister  the  equinox  was  past,  and  the 
gales  that  had  been  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  to  work  that  afternoon 
of  his  visit  to  Miss  Straker  had  come  to  an  end  reluctantly  after 
a  busy  life  exceeding  term-time.  They  had  satisfied  themselves  that 
frost  was  at  hand;  that  fog  would  be  forthcoming;  that  every  day 
would  be  shorter  and  chillier  than  its  predecessor;  and  that  the 
metropolis  would  be  miserable  enough  now  without  having  chimney- 
stacks  blown  down  and  petticoats  blown  up  and  umbrellas  blown 
inside  out.  The  early  riser,  rubbing  the  window-pane  clear  for 
better  vision,  could  see  the  hoar-frost  glitter  in  the  early  sunlight. 
He  could  then,  by  waiting  a  little,  see  the  smoke  of  the  early 
kitchen  fires  go  straight  up  and  spread  itself  around,  and  thicken 
and  thicken  and  thicken  until  it  was  an  early  fog,  and  its  nature 
and  origin  could  be  analysed  and  investigated  and  made  a  Blue- 
Book  of,  and  its  connection  with  the  kitchen  fire  denied.  And  no 
doubt  the  equinox  knew  this  quite  well,  and  felt  that  London  was 
provided  for,  and  went  off  on  another  job. 

Charles  had  not  been  in  London  the  whole  time.  He  had  spent  a 
week  in  Belgium,  going  in  the  boat  from  Antwerp  to  London 
Bridge.  It  made  him  think  of  Mrs.  Gamp  and  the  Ankworks 
Package.  It  was  a  mill-pond  sea,  having  a  rest  after  recent  exer- 
tions, and  if  it  had  not  been  foggy  the  voyage  would  have  been 
pleasant.  As  it  was,  Charles  felt  it  would  have  been  edifying  to 
have  Mrs.  Gamp  on  board,  and  hear  her  opinions  on  the  subject  of 
the  steam-whistle.  He  was  very  glad  when  they  got  into  the 
Scheldt,  and  still  gladder  when  he  had  found  his  way  to  a  Hotel 
and  was  having  coffee  out  of  the  thickest  of  all  possible  cups,  and 
listening  to  a  carillon  playing  "Voici  lo  sabre,  le  sabre,  le  sabre." 
There  is  no  pleasanter  sensation  in  the  world  than  feeling  you 
have  really  got  abroad,  after  being  in  England.  And  the  coffee 
is  the  thing  that  drives  it  home  to  you. 

224 


ALICE-FOK-SHOKT  225 

Charles  wandered  about  Antwerp,  conscious  of  defective  culti- 
vation. He  felt  that  his  organ  of  Rubens  ought  to  have  been 
more  developed  before  he  came  there.  He  was  very  glad  Peggy 
wasn't  with  him  in  connection  with  the  anatomical  demonstra- 
tion picture  in  the  Gallery.  But  he  can't  really  have  cared  very 
much  about  Art,  for  he  got  bored,  and  went  by  boat  to  Temsche 
and  back.  And  next  morning  he  went  to  Audenarde,  and  the  caril- 
lon said  it  was  la  fille  de  Madame  Angot.  And  then  he  went  on  to 
Bruges,  and  found  that  St.  Ursula  couldn't  be  seen  for  another 
week,  because  of  some  rearrangement  of  the  Gallery.  So  he  saw 
what  he  could  and  went  on  to  Ghent.  He  really  went  much  too  fast 
to  see  anything.  Travellers  by  themselves  are  very  apt  to  do  this. 
However,  he  was  amused,  rushing  about. 

He  spent  an  hour  or  two  at  several  other  Flemish  towns,  and  then 
went  back  to  Antwerp,  where  he  found  a  steamboat  just  start- 
ing for  Rotterdam,  and  thought  he  should  like  to  see  Holland.  He 
had  still  a  day  of  his  return  ticket  left.  But  alas !  before  he  had 
got  half-way  he  found  the  next  boat  back  would  be  too  late  for 
the  London  packet.  So  he  had  to  get  out  at  Dordrecht  to  catch 
the  boat  that  had  already  started  from  Rotterdam.  He  spent  two 
hours  in  Holland,  walking  about  at  Dordrecht.  He  caught  the 
London  boat  though,  and  reappeared  at  London  Bridge  just  eight 
days  after  he  started. 

You  think  that  all  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  our  story  ?  Yes — 
it  has.  For  it  shows  that  whatever  impression  Miss  Straker  had 
produced  on  the  susceptible  young  man  had  had  ample  opportuni- 
ties for  vanishing,  in  all  reason.  Just  think!  Eight  whole  days, 
spent  in  about  that  number  of  picturesque  old  towns.  We  are  sure 
that,  when  we  were  twenty-four,  no  young  lady  would  have  lasted 
through  that.  However,  we  don't  believe  that  this  one  really  did. 
It  was  an  unfortunate  curiosity — akin  to  what  he  who  firmly 
abstains  from  a  novelty  in  nectar  feels  as  to  what  it  would  have 
tasted  like  had  he  drunk  it — that  made  Charles  discover,  on  his 
return  to  his  Studio,  that  it  was  absolutely  essential  that  Miss 
Straker  should  come  next  day,  before  his  impressions  of  Flemish 
work  had  faded;  otherwise  Regan  might  suffer.  He  couldn't  get  a 
letter  to  her  in  time  for  an  answer,  and  it  would  be  just  as  easy 
as  not  for  him  to  call  round  at  Warren  Street  in  the  course  of 
the  evening  to  secure  her.  In  those  days  there  were  no  sixpenny 
telegrams,  reply  paid. 

So  he  must  needs  have  a  ride  in  a  hansom  to  what  he  himself  sus- 
pected of  being  a  danger  ahead,  merely  because  he  had  nowhere  in 
particular  to  go  to — for  his  family  were  not  due  in  Hyde  Park 


226  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

Gardens  till  next  day,  and  even  his  father  had  been  away  the  last 
fortnight  at  Shellaeombe.  If  he  had  only  been  content  to  bide  for 
a  talk  with  his  sister,  things  might  have  taken  a  different  course. 
Mind  you!  If  Charles  had  been  irresistibly  attracted  to  this  girl, 
we  should  not  have  had  a  word  of  blame  for  him.  But  he  was  say- 
ing to  himself  all  the  while  that  he  was  perfectly  detached  and 
independent.  The  only  evidence  that  he  had  to  the  contrary  was 
that  he  said  it  so  often. 

He  went  to  Warren  Street  and  soothed  his  conscience  by  keeping 
the  hansom  waiting  half-an-hour,  as  though  forsooth  he  meant  to 
go  soon.  Then  he  settled  down  to  stay  on,  and  dismissed  it.  Miss 
Straker  was  as  good  as  her  description  of  her  own  powers  when 
there  was  no  one  she  disliked  in  the  room;  for  she  sang  to  Charles 
and  the  goblin  and  the  poodle  till  past  eleven  o'clock.  Possibly 
it  is  only  because  we  are  so  fond  of  poor  Charles  that  it  seems 
to  us  to  have  been  somewhat  sad — it  certainly  was  neither  bad, 
nor  perhaps  even  mad — but  it  was  at  least  sweet  enough  to  make 
him  feel,  as  he  let  Miss  Straker's  very  white  hand  leave  his,  at 
the  street  door,  that  he  was  running  away  from  himself  as  well 
as  from  her,  and  that  he  had  (this  time)  got  away  safely  from 
both. 

We  hope  we  are  not  doing  this  girl,  with  her  beautiful  rippling 
hair  and  superb  voice,  and  slight  obliquity  of  visage,  a  great  injus- 
tice. But  the  transition  to  the  family  party  at  Hyde  Park  Gar- 
dens somehow  seems  to  remove  us  from  a  doubtful  atmos- 
phere to  a  healthy  one.  The  comers  home  had  brought  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  sea  with  them,  and  Charles  had  a  feeling  difficult 
to  describe  in  drawing  comparisons  with  his  previous  evening. 
It  was  the  first  time  he  had  lived  in  two  worlds  apart,  and  though 
he  had  no  sort  of  repugnance  to  the  two  worlds  merging,  he  had  a 
haunting  sense  of  its  impracticability.  Supposing  Miss  Straker — 
(and  as  he  carried  the  sentence  no  farther  in  his  mind,  why  should 
we) — how  about  Peggy?  Oh  dear,  why  did  they  seem  so  anti- 
podean ? 

Charles,  while  denying  Miss  Straker  overtly,  had  in  some  depth 
of  his  inner  consciousness  a  speculation  going  on  about  the  recep- 
tion of  a  young  lady  exactly  resembling  her  into  a  family  exactly 
resembling  his.  In  this  subliminal  drama  the  parallel  of  Peggy 
went  to  call  on  the  parallel  of  Miss  Straker,  and  found  it  good — 
found  it  in  fact  fulfilling  all  sorts  of  self-denying  functions,  and 
an  example  of  heroism  in  respect  of  its  adoption  of  the  trade  of 
Model.  All  the  revelation  of  character  went  in  the  direction  of 
sound  moral  qualities,  tending  to  justify  the  parallel  of  himself,  to 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  227 

show  its  judgment,  and  to  exonerate  it  from  too  unconditional  a 
surrender  to  mere  beauty — on  which,  however,  Peggy's  double  laid 
more  stress  than  his  did;  in  fact  the  latter  spoke  of  Miss  Straker's 
to  the  former  as  squinting,  and  got  indignantly  extinguished.  His 
father's  parallel  kept  curiously  quiet,  but  his  mother's  was  active 
on  the  score  of  Family:  was,  however,  just  on  the  point  of  surren- 
dering to  the  warm  advocacy  of  Peggy's,  when  the  original  of 
Charles  foimd  he  had  arrived  at  Hyde  Park  Gardens  in  the  nick 
of  the  departure  of  unloaded  vehicles  and  the  middle  of  a  Chaos  of 
sea-blown,  sun-tanned  arrivals,  kissing  him  when  female  and  asking 
questions : — 

"I  am  going,"  thus  the  voice  of  Alice,  clear  above  the  turmoil; 
"I  am  going  to  show  Mr,  Charley  the  thpethimen  I've  collected — I 
collected  it  under  a  great  big  stone — ever  so  big !  Oh,  it  was  such  a 
big  stone.  And  it  kicked,  the  thpethimen  did,  awfly — but  I  held 
on  tight,  and  Dan  he  took  it  and  cleaned  it  out,  and  it  wouldn't 
die  for  ever  so  long.  Such  a  beautiful  thpethimen!  And  oh,  it 
does  smell  no  nice." 

"To  be  sure,  Alice-for-short  dear,  I  must  see  that  specimen.  It 
sounds  a  beautiful  specimen." 

"But  the  boys  are  going  back  to  thchool,"  says  Alice,  ruefully. 
She  says  it  with  confidence  in  its  relevance  to  a  sympathetic  mind. 
She  and  Charles  and  Peggy  get  out  of  the  mainstream  of  trunks 
and  arrivals  into  a  backwater  in  the  parlour,  where  the  parrot 
lives.  The  excitement  without  is  taking  form  in  Polly  in  a  sort 
of  whirlwind-dance,  upside  down,  round  the  top  of  his  cage, 
with  a  curt,  dry  remark,  at  intervals — "Better  keep  that  door 
shut." 

"Alice  is  to  go  to  school,  too !  We've  settled  it  all,"  says  Peggy. 
*'But  you,  dear  boy,  you  do  look  so  townified.  Why  wouldn't  you 
come  for  longer  to  the  sea?" 

"I've  been  all  over  the  Low  Countries,  barring  Holland — 
couldn't  get  there  in  time.  I've  had  plenty  of  change.  I  only  got 
home  two  days  ago,  so  I  don't  see  how  I  can  look  townified." 

"I've  such  a  lot  of  things  to  talk  about  that  I  don't  know  which 
to  begin  with " 

"Please,  Miss  Peggy,  may  Polly  come  out,  just  this  once — ^just 
only  this  once.  He'll  promise  me  to  be  good — won't  you,  Polly?" 
But  he  declines  to  commit  himself — may  even  have  conscientious 
misgivings  how  far  it  is  safe  to  do  so,  for  he  says  in  a  very 
saccade  manner  indeed:  "The  bird  makes  such  a  row  you  can't 
hear  yourself  speak." 

"Nonsense,  chick  I    The  idea  of  having  Polly  out  now.    In  fact 


228  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

I  think  he  had  better  be  covered  up."  Perhaps  he  had,  for  he 
has  begun  calling  for  the  Police,  at  the  top  of  his  lungs. 

"But  I  shall  show  you  my  thpethimen,  Polly,  when  you  do  come 
out,"  says  Alice,  as  consolation,  and  Polly  falls  into  an  undertone 
about  something  that  amuses  him  very  much. 

"I  really  have,  though,  Charley  dear,  heaps  of  things  to  talk 
about.  Only  first  I  want  to  know  about  the  young  lady  that  sings — 
Miss  Straker." 

Charles  was  a  little  disconcerted  by  the  suddenness  of  Miss 
Straker's  appearance  into  the  conversation,  having  quite  forgotten 
that  in  his  last  letter  to  Peggy  he  had  said :  "I  heard  Miss  Straker 
sing  last  night — ^her  voice  is  wonderful." 

"Who  is  Miss  Straker?    Where  did  you  hear  her?" 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  about  her?    At  Shellacombe ?" 

"No!  That  was  Miss  Thiselton.  Bless  the  boy!  He's  got  such 
a  lot  of  young  ladies  he  doesn't  know  which  is  which !" 

"It's  the  same  young  lady.  She  sat  for  me  as  Miss  Thiselton. 
But  her  real  name  is  Straker." 

"Oh— Charley  dear!" 

"What,  Poggy-Woggy?" 

"Is  it  the  same  girl  that  went  away  down  the  street?" 

"Why  shouldn't  it  be?" 

"I  didn't  say  it  shouldn't.    I  only  asked  if  it  was." 

"Of  course  it  was!" 

"Well  then !  Why  need  we  be  so  touchy  ?  But  you're  a  dear  old 
boy.  Now  I  must  run  or  I  shan't  be  ready  for  dinner.  Come 
along,  Alice.  Where's  Partridge,  I  wonder."  And  Peggy  departs 
upstairs  in  the  wake  of  the  family,  with  Alice  attached. 

Charles  was  ready  for  dinner.  So  he  went  upstairs  to  the  draw- 
ing-room. But  first  he  uncovered  Polly,  who  said  thereon  without 
emotion,  "Straker."  He  repeated  it  three  times  with  perfect  dis- 
tinctness, and  then  broke  into  a  genial  laugh.  Charles  covered  him 
up  again.  He  felt  that  too  great  a  prominence  might  be  given  to 
the  name  if  Polly  shouted  it  all  the  evening  in  the  hearing  of  the 
household. 

"And  now,  Charley  darling,  do  tell  me  more  about  Miss  Straker." 
This  is  in  conversation  after  dinner  in  the  back  drawing-room 
The  rest  of  the  family  are  playing  games  in  the  front. 

"Why  did  you  say,  *0h,  Charley  dear,'  downstairs  about  her?" 
Peggy  is  far  too  truthful  to  stand  on  her  indisputable  right  to  say, 
"Oh,  Charley  dear,"  and  mean  nothing  at  all.  Besides,  intonation 
is  worse  than  syllables. 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  229 

"Well!  I  did  hope  she  was  altogether  a  new  one.  Of  course  I 
know  nothing  whatever  against  Miss  Thiselton,  or  Straker.  Only, 
if  it  had  been  a  new  one,  she  might  not  have  been " 

"What?" 

"Why,  of  course  you  know  what  I  mean — a  Model  and  that  sort 
of  thing." 

"I  don't  believe  she  is  that  sort  of  thing.  But  no  doubt  she  is  a 
Model  in  a  sense.  She  sat  for  Mr.  Calthorpe,  who  I  believe  knew 
her  first  as  a  musician — he's  a  good  deal  that  way — and  he  passed 
her  on  to  me."  Charles  went  on  and  gave  a  circumstantial  account 
of  his  acquaintance  with  the  young  woman,  stating  facts  but  soften- 
ing aspects.  He  said  nothing  about  the  Park  incident:  after  all, 
his»  having  half-mistaken  some  one  else  for  Miss  Straker  wasn't 
evidence.  He  could  not  have  told  it  either,  without  seeming  to 
have  been  three-fourths  mistaken  at  least. 

"But  what  I  can't  see,"  said  he,  when  he  had  made  a  clean  breast 
of  it,  "is  why  I  shouldn't  get  her  a  singing  job — even  if  she  was 
that  sort  of  thing  (in  reason  and  moderation  of  course).  If  it's 
bad  for  girls  to  sit  for  artists,  surely  it's  better,  when  one  can,  to 
get  them  something  else  to  do.  And  this  girl's  voice  is — I  really 
can't  tell  you  what  it  is!  It's  the  most  singular  case.  I  should 
like  to  know  what  Paracelsus  will  think  about  it." 

"He'll  be  here  directly,"  said  Peggy,  with  confidence.  "His  note 
only  said  he  wouldn't  be  here  to  dinner.  Yes,  I  should  like  to  hear 
her  voice."    But  she  looked  very  thoughtful  over  it  too. 

Peggy's  confidence  in  the  early  appearance  of  Dr.  Johnson  was 
well-grounded.  She  went  out  to  meet  his  footstep  on  the  stairs, 
and  Charles  remained,  feeling  discreet.  She  returned  in  due  course 
— which  meant  quite  four  minutes  in  this  case — bringing  with  her 
a  very  medical  attendant.  The  yachtsman  or  tourist  had  vanished, 
and  his  degrees  had  reasserted  themselves.  Whether  Rupert  was 
himself  again  now,  or  had  been  himself  then,  who  shall  say  ? 

There  was  evidently  room  for  a  good  deal  of  conversation  about 
Shellacombe — but  it  came  to  an  end.  Then-  Peggy  seized  an  oppor- 
tunity and  said:  "Now  let's  ask  about  the  voice.  You  tell  him 
about  it,  Charley."  And  Charles,  rather  glad  to  have  Miss  Straker 
broached  on  technical  grounds,  said :  "Yes,  we  want  your  opinion," 
and  went  on  to  describe  the  case.  "You  saw  her  at  the  Studio,"  said 
he  when  he  had  done  so  sufiiciently.  "You  called  her  a  beauty. 
Perhaps  she's  hardly  that."  On  the  whole  he  felt  he  had  done 
very  well,  considering;  and  that  Paracelsus  wouldn't  get  any  mis- 
taken impressions,  as  he  called  them,  about  her.  He  laid  mental 
stress  on  the  importance  of  this.     But  when  Paracelsus  said  he 


230  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

couldn't  recall  another  case  like  it,  but  he  would  ask  Huffer,  or 
Hoffer,  or  some  such  name,  about  it,  Charles  felt  illogically  that 
he  wasn't  prepared  to  have  Miss  Straker  dismissed  so  lightly.  He 
was  rather  difficult  to  satisfy,  was  Master  Charley,  and  not  quite 
clear  whether  he  wanted  to  talk  about  her  or  not. 

But  conversation  is  like  frogs  in  a  marsh,  or  birds  in  a  wood. 
It  will  die  quite  away,  and  make  you  expect  the  next  topic;  when 
just  one  chirp  of  a  nightingale  or  trill  of  a  flute  from  a  froglet,  and 
the  whole  performance  is  gone  through  again,  da  capo  ad  libitum. 

"What  was  the  name — Straker?"  asked  the  Doctor.  "Is  that 
what  Polly  meant,  I  wonder!  I  thought  it  was  traitor,  and 
couldn't  make  it  out." 

"I  suppose  his  shawl's  slipped  off,"  said  Peggy.  "Sometimes  it 
does  and  then  he  begins.  I  thought  I  heard  him  shrieking,  just 
now."  She  went  to  the  door  again,  and  it  was  soon  manifest  that 
Polly  was  shouting  "Straker"  at  short  intervals.  Charles  didn't 
at  all  look  forward  to  having  to  explain  Polly's  new  word  to  the 
family  generally.  And  he  was  very  audible.  Even  after  the  door 
was  closed  it  was  difficult  not  to  hear  him,  attention  being  once 
aroused.    And  he  certainly  kept  the  question  before  the  house. 

"I  wish  you  would  go  to  see  her.  Master  Rupert,"  said  Peggy. 
"You  could  pretend  you  wanted  particulars  of  the  case  for  a  book. 
What  do  you  think  it  is  ?" 

"Something  nervous,  I  fancy.  Nothing  to  do  with  the  throat — 
nothing  in  the  organ  itself." 

"Does  she  look  hysterical,  Charley?"  But  the  Doctor  says  looks 
are  nothing  to  go  by,  nor  symptoms.  Some  women  are  hysterical 
without  any  symptoms  at  all. 

"Then,  how  do  you  know?"  says  Peggy,  with  severity.  "But 
even  if  she's  not  hysterical  I  should  like  to  know  more  about  her. 
Because  if  this  dear  goose  of  a  boy  is  going  to  sit  listening  to  her 
by  the  hour  together  .  .  ." 

"I've  only  done  so  once — or  twice." 

"...  I  should  like  to  know  what  sort  of  a  girl  she  really  is." 

"Why  don't  you  go  and  see  her  yourself  ?"    Thus  Johnson. 

"Because  I'm  afraid  I  shouldn't  like  her.  And  then  what  to  say 
to  Charley  I  couldn't,  couldn't  tell !" 

"Do  you  think,"  says  Charles,  "I  care  so  much  as  all  that  ?" 

"Charley  dear,  don't  be  artificial.  Oh  dear!  how  transparent 
young  men  are !  You're  not  much  better  yourself,  Rupert,  so  you 
needn't  talk." 

"But  I  really  don't,"  says  Charles.  And  reassured  by  his  own 
voice,  he  really  thinks  he  doesn't. 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  231 

Rupert  hasn't  greeted  the  front  room  yet,  for  all  he's  been  such 
a  long  time  chatting.  At  this  juncture  comes  Mrs.  Heath's  voice, 
asking,  "Is  that  Dr.  Johnson  I  hear  ?"  with  an  accent  that  seems  to 
imply  that  Dr.  Jackson  and  Dr.  Wilson  might  have  come.  He 
goes  away  to  an  accolade,  being  very  popular  with  all  hands. 

"Now,  Charley  dear,"  Peggy  says,  very  seriously,  "listen  to  what 
I  am  going  to  say " 

"I'm  listening." 

"Very  well  then.  What  I  have  to  say  is  this — Yes.  Sit  still  like 
that,  and  I'll  ruffle  your  hair.  That's  right!  Now  about  Miss 
Straker " 

"Fire  away!" 

"If  you  can  look  me  straight  in  the  face,  and  say,  really  and 
truly  I  needn't  be  uneasy  about  you  and  her " 

"Of  course  I  can  say  that.  Really  and  truly  you  needn't  be 
uneasy " 

"Oh,  you  silly  boy !  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  when  you're  pre- 
varicating ?    You  know  quite  well  what  I  mean." 

"Perhaps  I  do.  But  then  I  don't  know  whether  I  do  or  not. 
So  it  comes  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end." 

"Are  you  indifferent  to  this  girl — absolutely  indifferent?" 

Charles  takes  off  his  spectacles  and  polishes  them.  When  you 
can't  answer  yes  or  no  to  a  question,  it  is  well  to  have  some  stick  to 
whittle,  some  pipe  to  light,  some  stitch  to  take  up.  Polishing 
spectacles  is  very  good.  Before  Charles  replies,  he  makes  the 
lenses  bright ;  then  looks  round  at  his  sister  through  them. 

"Absolutely  indifferent  is  a  large  order,"  says  he.  "I  don't 
know  that  I  can  quite  run  to  that." 

Peggy  knows  nothing  about  Miss  Straker — only  suspects  and 
doubts.  And  all  her  misgivings  may  be  groundless.  But  Charley 
is  her  brother  of  brothers — ^her  idol  of  old  time.  There  is  trouble 
in  her  heart,  and  trouble  in  her  voice.  But  its  words  are  only, 
"Very  well,  Charley  dear,  you  would  like  me  to  go  and  see  her,  and 
I'll  go."  Then  Charles  tries  to  pull  a  little  philosophical  indiffer- 
ence into  the  conversation:  "Yes,  I  should  like  to  know  what  you 
really  think  of  her  voice."  But  he  feels  he  is  a  little  behind 
time  with  this.    It  may  as  well  stand,  however. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

HOW  PEGGY  CALLED  ON  MISS  STRAKER,  AND  MISS  STRAKER  WENT  TO  THE 
GARDENS.  HOW  ALICE  AGREED  WITH  POLLY  ABOUT  HER.  CHARLES's 
FATHER  THINKS  HIM  A  FOOL.  HOW  MISS  STRAKER  WROTE  A  LETTER, 
AND  LANDED  A  FISH.     BUT  WHAT  ABOUT  REGENTS  PARK? 

Peggy  was  as  good  as  her  word,  and  did  go  to  call  upon  Miss 
Straker.  It  was  by  appointment,  and  Miss  Straker  was  at  home. 
It  was  an  uncomfortable  visit;  but  then  it  would  have  been  more 
so  if  there  had  not  been  the  resource  of  its  professional  character. 
Its  object  clearly  was  to  forward  the  young  woman's  musical  pros- 
pects. The  agents  might  have  given  her  up,  but  that  was  no  reason 
why  private  introduction  should  not  push  her.  Provided  always 
that  the  voice  was  all  that  Charles's  fancy  painted  it.  But  even 
with  this  background,  the  visit  was  an  uncomfortable  one. 

Miss  Straker  sang,  and  was  in  good  form.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  the  voice.  That  was  all  right,  at  any  rate !  But  why  did  it 
present  itself  so  strongly  as  a  set-off,  a  make-weight,  against  some- 
thing that  wasn't  ?  What  was  it  about  the  singer  that  made  "at  any 
rate"  so  necessary  ?  Why  did  Peggy's  mind  employ  the  same  phrase 
about  the  goblin  French  mother  as  she  was  driven  home  after 
arranging  a  day  for  Miss  Straker  to  sing  at  Hyde  Park  Gardens  to 
her  family  and  a  few  appreciative  friends?  What  she  then  said 
to  herself  was,  "He  wouldn't  marry  the  mother  at  any  rate!"  Of 
course  not.  Nor  the  poodle.  But  the  appearance  of  this  consid- 
eration showed  that  however  little  Peggy  might  feel  drawn  to  the 
young  woman,  she  had  recognised  fully  the  dangers  of  the  situation, 
and  acknowledged  to  herself  that  her  amount  of  beauty  (with  that 
hair  and  all),  coupled  with  such  a  voice,  might  be  quite  enough 
to  dazzle  and  entangle  a  boy  of  Charley's  sort.  But  then,  what 
had  happened  after  all  to  justify  her  in  assuming  that  this  was  the 
girl's  motive  and  intention?  Absolutely  nothing,  except  perhaps 
that  it  happened  to  be  Charley,  and  who  could  help  being  in  love 
with  Charley,  for  all  his  spectacles  ?  We,  in  this  story,  know  more 
about  Miss  Straker  than  Peggy  did.  Yet,  for  anything  we  know, 
she  may  have  been  troth-plight  to  some  other  young  gentleman  else- 
where, without  having  overtly  deceived  anybody.  Unless,  indeed, 
you  hold  that  she  ought  to  have  said  to  Charles,  "That's  the  end 

232 


ALICE-rOE-SHOET  233 

of  the  songs — now  go — I'm  engaged,"  or,  '*Leave  hold  of  my  hand, 

Mr.  Heath,  it  is  another's ;  a  fair  shake  is  one  thing,  but " ;  and 

so  on.  It  always  seems  to  us  that  it  would  be  safer  to  forbid  friend- 
ship between  what  Mrs.  Smith  called  young  ladies  and  gentlemen  of 
opposite  sexes,  than  to  pretend  to  allow  it  and  then  be  so  nice  and 
critical  about  the  demeanour  of  the  former.  Especially  as  we  are 
so  very  easy-going  about  the  latter.  This  tirade  of  ours  applies, 
however,  only  to  Miss  Straker's  attitude  up  to  the  date  of  her  visit 
to  Hyde  Park  Gardens.    After  that,  discrimination  is  called  for. 

As  to  the  visit,  it  was  a  success.  There  was  no  hitch  in  the 
singing,  and  no  dissentient  voice  about  its  value.  The  young  lady 
was  looking  her  best;  and  that,  as  we  have  said,  was  very  strik- 
ing when  the  line  of  sight  was  not  exactly  at  right  angles  to  the 
axis  of  her  eyeballs;  it  improved  also  in  inverse  ratio  of  their 
inclination.  Charles  was  internally  triumphant,  with  the  slightest 
reservation — analogous  to  the  one  Peggy  had  made  in  another  con- 
nection. "They  could  all  see  what  a  fine  singer  she  was,  at  any 
rate!"  There  were  rates  at  which  they  could  not  see  something 
else,  not  specified.  But  there  were  many  other  things  which  one 
could  see,  at  any  rate.  Ellen  said  boldly  that  one  of  these  was  that 
she  wasn't  a  lady,  and  had  evidently  never  been  in  good  society. 
"You're  a  nice  young  lady  to  talk,"  said  her  father;  "why,  you've 
only  been  in  good  society  yourself  thirteen  years." 

"There  now!"  said  the  monkey,  loftily,  "that  shows  how  much 
Papa  knows  about  things.  As  if  I  was  in  any  society  at  all.  Why, 
I'm  not  out  yet!" 

"Then  I  vote  you  shut  up !"  said  Dan,  the  youngest  boy.  "Alice 
and  I  think  she's  awfully  jolly.  Don't  we,  Alice?"  Now  none  of 
these  young  people  had  had  much  opportunity  of  forming  an  opin- 
ion, having  only  been  in  the  room  for  a  limited  term,  and  then  on 
tolerance  as  it  were. 

"What  does  Alice-f or-short  think  ?"  said  Charles.  "Come  and  tell 
me,  Alice-for-short."  And  Alice  comes,  ending  with  a  leap  on  to 
Mr.  Charles's  knee. 

"I  ^^ink,"  she  says,  struggling  on  the  initial  to  avoid  saying 
fink.    "I  think  the  same  what  Polly  thinks." 

"What  does  Polly  think  ?"  Alice  warms  up  to  narrative  with  her 
eyes  sparkling,  and  holding  very  tight  to  Mr.  Charles's  watch- 
chain. 

"Polly  thuth-inks — Miss  Straker's — quite,  quite  beautiful !  Polly 
seed  her — sawed  her — of  coorth !  She  came  into  Polly's  room.  To 
see  in  the  glass  and  take  ofE  her  shawl.  And  oh,  such  a  fvinny  old 
woman  I" 


234  ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 

"And  Polly  said  she  was  quite  beautiful  ?    Go  ahead,  Alice." 

"Yes,  only  other  words.  Polly  said,  'Just  like  me,  just  like 
me,'  and  I  said  who.  And  he  said,  'Straker,'  very  loud.  And  I 
called  him  a  vain  bird — ^yes,  I  did."  And  Alice  adds  emphasis  with 
nods. 

"Perhaps  Polly  meant  her  mother,  Alice?"  suggests  Peggy,  with 
gravity.  But  Alice  gives  a  long  incredulous  shalie  of  the  head. 
She  knows  Polly  better  than  that. 

"Well!"  said  Charles,  after  more  comparison  of  notes  about  the 
funny  old  woman  and  her  daughter.  "At  any  rate,  Miss  Straker 
has  Polly's  good  opinion."  It  is  extraordinary  how  often  this 
reservation-phrase  came  in.  She  had  a  wonderful  voice,  at  any 
rate.  She  had  great  facility,  at  any  rate.  She  had  beautiful  hair, 
beautiful  hands,  teeth,  figure,  etc.,  all  at  any  rate.  Charles  liked 
her,  at  any  rate.  Peggy  didn't  dislike  her,  at  any  rate.  Every- 
body used  the  expression  without  noticing  that  every  one  else  had 
done  so  too.  However,  in  spite  of  this,  the  visit  was  on  the  whole 
a  success. 

If  we  had  been  Charles  and  had  wanted  to  avoid  an  appearance 
of  being  in  love  with  Miss  Straker,  in  the  interval  between  this 
party  and  a  larger  one  to  which  musical  influence  was  to  be  invited, 
we  should  not  have  acted  as  he  did.  In  our  opinion,  he  would  have 
done  better  to  discontinue  sittings  altogether  at  the  Studio,  and  not 
to  call  unnecessarily  at  Warren  Street.  Instead  of  which,  what 
between  arranging  at  every  sitting  for  the  day  after  to-morrow,  and 
calling  at  the  house  in  the  evening  to  say  to-morrow  would  do  just 
as  well,  he  contrived  to  see  a  very  great  deal  of  Miss  Straker  in 
the  interim  between  the  two  parties.  WTiat  precise  form  their 
interviewings  took  on  these  occasions  need  not  be  set  down  in 
detail;  we  are  satisfied  that  the  goblin  would  not  have  fallen  asleep 
if  she  had  not  had  full  confidence  in  her  daughter,  and  as  for 
Charles  we  ourselves  feel  every  confidence  in  him.  No  doubt  their 
behaviour  was  unexceptionable.  But  what  concerns  this  story  is 
that  when  at  the  second  party  the  young  lady  scored  a  most  bril- 
liant success,  the  opinion  was  freely  expressed,  in  conversation 
about  her  and  Charles,  that  "anybody  could  see."  In  dealing  with 
interesting  subjects  of  this  class,  Society  does  not  always  talk  like 
a  book.  Speech  in  fragments  is  more  expressive.  Society  con- 
firmed and  extended  the  verdicts  of  the  family  circle ;  the  lady  sang 
magnificently,  looked  well,  was  quite  producible — all  at  any  rate. 
But  always  there  was  this  same  reserve. 

However,  anybody  could  see !  There  was  no  doubt  of  that.  And 
as  everybody  looked  (perhaps  even  more  than  they  were  asked  to 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  236 

look),  everybody  did  see.  Peggy  felt  uneasy,  fretted,  distressed — 
but  she  could  not  say  exactly  why  she  shrank  from  hearing  what 
she  knew  she  should  hear.  There  was  a  sort  of  stiffness,  almost, 
between  her  and  Charley — neither  speaking  to  the  other  of  Miss 
Straker,  Peggy's  feelings  taking  the  form  of  secret  commiseration 
for  her  brother,  and  his  of  a  suspicion  of  it,  coupled  with  as  near  an 
approach  to  resentment  against  it  as  he  could  feel  where  Peggy 
was  concerned.  Tension  in  various  forms  ran  through  the  family. 
Charles's  mother  offered  him  an  inanimate  cheek  to  kiss  and  with- 
drew it  on  the  spot.  Hers  was  an  attitude  of  regretful  dignity 
under  trial;  of  fulfilled  foreknowledge  of  disaster  slighted  by  a 
headstrong  circle  of  relations;  of  an  intention  ultimately  to  bring 
to  book  the  real  fons  et  origo  malorum,  her  husband.  The  boys 
were  under  tension  in  another  sense.  They  were  bottling  up  deri- 
sion— waiting  for  the  signal  that  should  let  them  loose  on  their 
victim.  Ellen  alone,  acknowledging  no  jurisdiction,  bound  by 
neither  man  nor  Mrs.  Grundy,  attacked  Charles  boldly  on  the  sub- 
ject, and  asked  him  his  intentions  to  his  face. 

"I  don't  care  what  Miss  Petherington  says,"  said  Miss  Ellen, 
"I'm  fourteen  next  July  and  Pm  not  going  to  hold  my  tongue  and 
be  shished.  What  I  want  to  know  is,  are  we  going  to  have  Miss 
Straker  for  a  sister-in-law  or  are  we  not  ?  Which  is  it  to  be  ?  And 
that  old  Guy  with  the  ribands  for  an  aunt?  No — Charley!  It's 
no  use  your  glaring  and  looking  inscrutable.  I  mean  to  make  you 
tell.  Now,  Charley  dear — is  it  to  be  Miss  Straker  or  is  it  not?" 
But  Charles  kept  on  looking  inscrutable.  "Is  what  to  be  Miss 
Straker,  Jumping  Joan  ?"  he  asked.  It  was  a  general  nickname  for 
Ellen,  from  a  well-known  nursery  rhyme. 

"Is — Miss — Straker — going — to  marry  you  or  nof?    Now  is  that 

plain,  or  shall  I  say  it  all  over  again  ?    Is — Miss "    But  Charles 

interrupted  her  to  say  Miss  Straker  hadn't  asked  to  be  allowed 
to,  so  far ! 

"Now  isn't  Charley  ridiculous?"  This  was  in  appeal  to  Peggy, 
the  only  other  person  in  the  room.  "As  if  one  didn't  know  that 
ladies  never  propose!" 

"Ladies  never  propose,"  said  Charles,  imperturbably,  "without 
consulting  the  gentleman's  little  sister  Joan.    Not  real  ladies." 

"Now  isn't  Charley  irritating?  Anyhow  I  shall  ask  Papa  what 
he  thinks.  You  see  if  I  don't."  But  Charles  and  Peggy  made  but 
a  poor  job  of  a  laugh  over  it,  when  Joan  had  departed.  Peggy- 
was  more  than  half  inclined  to  cry,  in  reality;  while  Charles  could 
only  say  he  really  hadn't  proposed  to  Miss  Straker,  after  all!  "I 
won't  have  you  worried  about  it,  my  darling  boy,  anyhow,"  said 


236  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

his  sister,  kissing  him.  And  he  felt  in  two  minds  about  whether 
he  wouldn't  wash  his  hands  of  the  whole  concern,  and  pretend 
he  wanted  to  go  away  and  study  in  Rome,  or  something  of  that 
sort. 

That  evening  he  and  his  father  were  left  alone,  late. 

"Charley  boy,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  suddenly,  "tell  me  about 
Miss  Straker." 

It  was  Charles's  nature  and  instinct  to  meet  every  question  (from 
his  father  certainly)  in  the  spirit  of  the  questioner,  and  to  reply  in 
full,  without  evasion  or  reserve.  In  the  present  case  he  hesitated, 
not  from  any  desire  to  keep  back  information,  but  because  he  really 
could  not  see  his  way  to  wording  it.  It  would  have  been  an  ease- 
ment to  him  to  be  able  to  say:  "I  love  this  girl,  and  would  marry 
her  if  I  could.  Will  you  consent  to  her  if  ever  I  can?  Will  you 
take  her  for  your  daughter,  and  help  me  to  ask  my  mother  to 
accept  her  too  ?"  He  could  not  manage  this,  and  very  strangely  it 
was  the  first  four  words  he  could  not  fill  out.  He  could  have  asked 
his  father's  consent  to  his  marrying  the  lady  easily  enough.  But 
although  he  could  have  affirmed  his  intention  as  to  action,  he  shranlc 
from  anything  that  expressed  or  defined  a  feeling.  Under  pressure, 
he  might  have  said  grudgingly  that  he  supposed  he  was  what  peo- 
ple call  in  love  with  her.  But  he  would  not  have  welcomed  the 
obvious  rejoinder — "If  you  only  suppose  it,  hadn't  you  better  try 
to  live  without  her,  for  her  sake  and  yours?"  Because,  you  see, 
he  had  got  to  the  point  of  wanting  to  marry  her,  and  taking  for 
granted  that  he  would  not,  could  not,  want  to  marry  her  unless 
he  loved  her.  What  a  pity  he  could  not  analyse  his  own  feelings, 
and  collate  them  with  the  fact  that  he  had  only  known  Miss 
Straker  a  few  weeks ! 

"I  can  only  tell  you  a  very  little  about  Miss  Straker,"  said  he, 
replying  to  his  father's  question.  "What  I  can  tell  won't  take 
long.  She  was  introduced  to  me  by  a  fellow  artist,  not  as  a  pro- 
fessional model,  but  as  a  young  lady  whose  circumstances  were  not 
very  prosperous,  and  who  would  not  mind  earning  a  little  money 
by  sitting  provided  the  artist  was  a  friend,  or  a  friend's  friend — 

well  introduced,  I  mean "     Charles  hesitated  a  moment;  his 

father  may  have  been  looking  a  little  incredulous. 

"How  do  professional  models  generally  begin?"  he  asked.  "Do 
they  knock  at  an  artist's  studio,  and  say  they  feel  like  Hercules  or 
Venus,  and  don't  the  artists  want  a  model?"    Charles  laughed. 

"Very  often,"  he  said,  "especially  Venus.  Only,  you  quite 
understand?  Venus  wasn't  in  it  this  time."  Yes,  that  was  quite 
understood.     "However,  I'll  tell  you  the  rest  I  know  about  her. 


ALICE-FOK-SHOET  237 

Her  father  was  a  teacher  of  languages  in  Paris ;  whether  he  is  liv- 
ing or  not  I  am  uncertain;  there  is  some  reluctance  to  speak  of  it 
and  I  don't  like  to  ask — he  may  be  a  sweep.  She  has  a  younger 
brother  named  Maurice  whom  I  have  not  seen  yet,  and  a  mother — 
as  per  sample  the  other  day." 

Charles  then  recapitulated  the  story  of  the  singing  experience, 
and  honourably  admitted  how  often  he  had  been  at  Warren  Street, 
and  that  he  had  found  the  house  very  attractive.  If  he  did  not 
state  to  a  nicety  the  exact  degree  of  familiarity  that  subsisted 
between  him  and  the  young  lady,  we  feel  sure  that  (if  you  have 
ever  been  young  yourself)  you  will  excuse  him.  Fancy,  every  time 
there  was  any  little  kissing  or  squeezing  or  tenderness,  if  you  had 
to  schedule  it  and  frame  a  report!  Charles,  however,  didn't  mean 
to  flinch  from  any  essential  in  his  confession. 

"I  know.  Father,"  said  he,  "that  what  you  wanted  to  know  about 
was " 

"Exactly!"  said  his  father.  "About  your  own  relation  to  her — 
is  there  anything  you  can  tell  me?" 

"Is  there  any?"  Charles  reflected.  "I  am  not  sure  that  I  should 
have  her  sanction  for  saying  there  was.  She  has  never  authorised 
me  to  do  so.  Nothing  has  passed  between  us  that  would  make  it 
unjustifiable  in  her  to  refuse  me  to-morrow,  if  I  made  her  an  offer 
of  my  invaluable  self."  This  was  stretching  a  point;  but  it  was 
true  this  far,  that  the  last  time  Charles  parted  from  her  at  her 
mother's  door,  they  parted  in  silence.  Otherwise,  the  parting  had 
been  as  loverlike  as  you  would  wish  to  see,  or  as  the  contributors 
would  wish  you  shouldn't. 

"What  is  your  actual  relation,  my  dear  boy,  at  this  moment?" 
Charles  paused  a  moment — then  replied: 

"If  nothing  but  the  official  truth  is  to  be  told,  none  at  all — but 
the  official  truth  would  be  a  lie.  In  my  own  heart  I  hold  myself 
pledged  to  her,  and  I  believe  she  knows  it.  Whether  she  holds  her- 
self pledged  to  me  I  do  not  know.  Have  I  any  right  to  press  her 
to  say  she  does,  when  I  have  not  had  any  professional  success  and 
may  never  have  any — am  still  a  mere  student  ?  When  I  took  up  the 
profession  of  an  artist,  I  knew  it  was  a  lottery,  and  was  quite  deter- 
mined not  to  involve  any  one  else  in  the  risks  I  incurred  myself, 
I  knew  I  might  never  be  able  to  marry,  and  accepted  the  position." 
This  sounded  heroic,  and  Charles  felt  happy  over  it.  But  his 
father  evidently  did  not. 

"Are  you  sure  you  did  accept  the  position?"  said  he.  "It  seems 
to  me  that  a  resolution  never  to  marry  was  very  little  use,  unless 
you  also  made  up  your  mind  never  to  fall  in  love — let  alone  not 


238  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

showing  it.  You  can't  carry  out  the  idea  honestly  short  of  run- 
ning away  from  every  girl  you  like." 

Poor  Charley  looked  very  downcast.  "I  see  it  now,"  said  he; 
"it's  just  as  you  say.  Father !    But,  oh  dear ! — it  is  so  insidious." 

"Yes — it's  quite  celebrated  for  that  quality."  The  old  boy 
chuckled  to  himself  over  his  son's  candour — but  was  sorry  for  him 
all  the  more.  "But  wait  a  while,  Charley  boy,  wait  a  while !  Hope 
to  see  the  way  clear,  and  try  to  see  straight." 

All  this  occurred  two  or  three  days  after  the  musical  gathering, 
and  the  second  day  after  the  parting  in  Warren  Street  which  we 
have  hinted  at  above.  Charles  had  received  a  note  from  Miss 
Straker  in  the  morning  asking  him  to  put  off  his  next  visit  till 
he  should  hear  again  from  her.  She  had  to  go  into  the  country 
for  a  day  or  two.  The  letter  was  not  stamped ;  perhaps  was  brought 
by  the  brother  (whom  Charles  had  not  so  far  seen),  and  left  in 
the  letter-box  at  No.  40. 

When  he  got  back  to  the  Studio  after  the  above  interview  with 
his  father,  he  found  another  letter  waiting  for  him  from  the 
young  lady,  with  the  postmark  Watford.  She  had  written  from 
the  country,  and  it  was  a  long  one — must  have  something  in  it. 
Charles's  face  beamed  with  satisfaction  as  he  opened  it.  It 
changed  as  he  read  as  follows : — 

Parfitt's  Farm,  on  the  Eickmansworth  Road, 
Near  Watford,  MrooLESEx. 
My  Dear  Mr.  Heath, 

I  have  made  up  my  mind  I  should  write  to  you,  but  do  I 
do  right?  I  am  inexperienced  and  do  not  know  where  to  look  for 
advice,  for  you  have  seen  my  Maman,  and  as  for  poor  Maurice,  he 
is  a  boy.  But  I  know  you  are  good  and  will  believe  me  it  is  for 
hoth  our  sokes  I  speak. 

I  have  been  awake  all  night  thinking  of  our  parting  last  evening. 
And  I  am  convinced  it  is  right  that  I  should  speak  without  reserve. 
There  should  be  no  concealments  hetween  us. 

I  am  convinced  that  it  is  better  for  both  of  us  that  we  should  not 
deceive  ourselves.  I  feel  sure,  although  I  can  scarcely  tell  you 
what  makes  me,  that  happiness  is  not  possible  for  us  except  at  a 
price  I  could  not  ask  you  to  pay.  I  cannot  ask  you  to  renonce 
your  family  for  my  sahe.  You  will  say  there  is  no  need.  But, 
indeed,  indeed,  I  am  right.  Sometimes  we  women  see  these  thing? 
more  plainly  than  men.  I  can  see  so  plainly  that  there  is  a  gap 
between  us.    I  cannot  ask  you  to  make  this  sacrifice  for  my  sake. 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  239 

Dear  Mr.  Heath,  you  must  not  blame  me.  You  would  not  if  you 
could  know  what  pain  it  costs  me  to  write  this.  But  I  know  that 
/  am  right  and  that  it  is  for  your  happiness  that  we  should  say 
good-bye.  It  is  best  that  we  should  forget.  Think  of  me  only 
as  your  most  affectionate  friend — 

L.  S. 

Do  not,  I  beg,  say  one  word  of  this  nor  show  this  letter  to  your 
good  and  beautiful  sister.  No  one  is  to  blame — but  I  am  sure  of 
what  I  say.    Adieu ! 

Was  this  letter  written  with  a  full  understanding  of  Charles's 
character,  and  an  intention  that  he  would  behave  exactly  as  he  did 
behave?  For  of  course  its  effect  upon  him  was  (and  we  say  this 
hoping  that  we  have  made  his  character  as  clear  to  you  as  it  is  to 
ourselves)  that,  in  the  first  place,  he  scarcely  slept.  In  the  next 
that,  after  an  insufficient  breakfast,  he  made  straight  for  Euston 
Station  to  catch  an  early  train  for  Watford.  In  less  than  an  hour 
he  was  being  driven  to  the  address  so  circumstantially  detailed  in 
the  letter.  He  was  told  at  the  house  that  Miss  Lavinia  had  walked 
out  but  would  be  back  shortly  as  breakfast  was  ready.  He  asked 
in  which  direction  she  had  gone,  and  went  to  meet  her.  When  she 
saw  him,  her  exclamation  was,  "Oh,  Mr.  Heath — you  cannot  have 
got  my  letter."  He  made  no  immediate  reply,  but  caught  her  in 
his  arms,  kissing  her  passionately.  Then  he  said,  in  a  voice  that 
showed  the  tension  of  his  feelings:  "Your  letter?  It  brought  me 
here.  But  I  will  not  have  it  so!  You  are  mine  and  I  am  yours. 
Besides,"  he  continued,  becoming  calmer,  "indeed  you  are  quite 
mistaken  in  imagining  things  about  my  family — they  are  not  what 
you  think  them.  What  a  silly  girl  you  are !"  But  for  all  that  he 
had  his  own  misgivings. 

We  have  said  that  we  make  no  pretence  of  understanding  Miss 
Straker.  But  we  wish  that  it  should  be  noted  that  if  she  did  intend 
to  bring  about  this  result,  no  more  skilful  manipulation  could 
have  been  resorted  to.  It  might  have  failed  completely  with  another 
man  than  poor  simple,  chivalrous  Charley!  Under  the  circum- 
stances its  effect  was  threefold.  It  assumed  a  more  advanced 
stage  in  The  Lover's  Progress  than  was  warrantable,  or  than  it 
would  have  been  safe  to  assume  with  every  other  man.  A  good 
many  young  gentlemen,  as  we  understand,  have  even  gone  the 
length  of  kissing  young  ladies  (not  under  mistletoes),  and  yet 
both  would  have  been  surprised  to  hear  that  there  were  to  be  no 
concealments  between  them.  Secondly,  under  cover  of  this  assump- 
tion, it  made  a  very  explicit  declaration  of  the  tender  sentiments 


240  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

of  the  writer  without  any  appearance  of  over-forwardness  on  her 
part.  Thirdly,  and  chiefly,  it  anticipated  the  censures  of  the  higher 
respectabilities,  and  disarmed  them  by  anticipation.  How  could 
even  a  Title  have  descended  in  wrath  on  the  social  surroundings 
of  a  girl  who  had  of  her  own  accord  quoted  them  to  free  its  son 
from  the  rash  undertaking  of  a  moment  of  heedlessness.  But 
whatever  suspicion  passes  through  our  mind,  or  yours,  there  was 
none  in  Charles's,  as  he  accompanied  Miss  Straker  back  to  the 
farm-house;  where  she  was,  as  she  explained,  the  guest  for  a  day 
or  two,  of  a  friend  she  had  made  in  the  course  of  her  musical  ad- 
ventures with  Agents  in  London.  Her  name  was  Clara  Parfitt, 
and  she  was  a  fellow  victim  with  Miss  Straker  of  the  said  Agents. 

Naturally  Charles,  who  had  had  no  breakfast  to  speak  of, 
accepted  an  invitation  to  stop  on  and  have  some  more.  He  passed 
the  morning  intending  to  go  by  each  train  in  succession,  but  they 
all  snorted  away  audibly  from  the  station  without  him;  slowly  at 
first  as  if  to  give  him  a  chance  to  overtake  them;  and  then  faster 
and  faster,  even  as  trains  relieved  to  have  the  matter  settled.  He 
stayed  to  dinner,  an  early  mid-day  dinner,  farm-house  wise.  To 
be  brief,  he  forgot  himself  entirely  in  a  fool's  paradise,  and  Clara 
Parfitt  showed  herself  a  model  of  sympathetic  discretion;  for  she 
undertook  tacitly  to  play  propriety,  and  deserted  the  part  without 
providing  an  understudy.  What  with  one  thing  and  another,  the 
succession  of  deferred  departures  ended  in  his  just  catching  the 
last  train. 

There  were  two  roads  to  the  station,  and  there  had  been  some 
debate  as  to  which  way  the  gig  which  was  to  take  him  was  to  drive. 
One  was  the  better  road,  the  other  the  shorter.  The  couple  were 
considerately  left  to  make  their  adieux  clear  of  company. 

The  night  had  clouded  over,  and  cold  sleety  rain  was  beginning. 
By  Charles's  request,  Miss  Straker  did  not  come  out  into  the  open. 
She  remained  under  the  honeysuckle  porch;  the  gig  was  waiting  at 
the  other  end  of  the  garden  walk. 

"Good-bye,  my  dearest  love!"  said  Charles.  "Now  remember! 
No  more  doubts — no  more  hesitations.  You  are  mine  and  I  am 
yours."  And  then,  after  such  a  farewell  as  becomes  a  lover,  he 
was  seated  in  the  drifting  rain  beside  the  driver.  "It's  got  rather 
late,"  he  called  back  to  her,  "but  we  shall  catch  the  train." 

"Tell  him  to  go  that  way,"  she  called  after  him,  and  pointed 
to  her  left.  The  young  man  who  drove  turned  round  reluctantly. 
"The  ro-ad's  a  bad  ro-ad,"  he  said,  "but  belike  it's  a  surer  one, 
taking  count  of  the  time." 

Charles  just  caught  his  train.    But  whereas  the  young  man  who 


ALICE-FOK-SHOET  241 

walked  over  the  gravel  garden-path  was  joyous  with  an  intoxica- 
tion that  comes  only  once  in  a  life,  the  one  that  rode  home  in  the 
railway  train  was  miserable  with  a  misgiving  that  by  the  time  he 
reached  Euston  had  grown  to  fever-point. 

For  the  words,  "tell  him  to  go  that  way,"  were  the  words  spoken 
by  the  woman  at  the  Park  gate,  and  the  movement  of  the  hand  that 
pointed  to  the  left  was  the  movement  of  hers,  and  the  voice  itself 
was  hers,  and  the  figure.  And  the  worst  of  it  was  that  she  had 
told  him,  unasked,  that  she  herself  had  been,  at  the  moment,  else- 
where. 


CHAPTEE  XXIII 

HOW  PEGGY  CALLED  AGAIN  ON  MISS  STRAKER,  AND  GOT  LITTLE  COMFOBT 
FOR  CHARLES.     MISS  STRAKER's  UNCERTAIN  SOUND 

Charles  had  promised  to  go  to  dinner  at  "the  Gardens"  next 
evening.  He  did  not  go,  sending  instead  a  note  to  Peggy,  telling 
her  not  to  expect  him.  He  wasn't  feeling  very  first-rate — ^nothing 
particular  wrong ;  only  a  slight  cold,  and  he  thought  it  best  to  keep 
indoors  for  a  day. 

This  was  an  unusual  attitude  for  Charles.  His  normal  course 
would  have  been,  being  unwell,  to  cab  to  the  family  mansion  to  be 
nursed.  But  he  was  always  transparent,  as  Peggy  said.  She 
saw  at  once  there  was  a  screw  loose.  "It's  Miss  Straker,  somehow !" 
she  said,  with  insight.  "I  shall  go  and  see."  So  on  the  morning 
of  the  third  day  after  Charles's  interview  with  his  father,  Peggy 
went -to  the  Studio. 

"Oh,  Charley,  dearest  boy,  what  is  the  matter?"  said  she  to  the 
haggard  worn-out  figure  she  found  there — "instead  of  her  brother," 
was  how  it  presented  itself  to  her.  Anything  worse  than  a  slight 
cold,  or  a  reasonable  disquiet,  had  not  crossed  her  mind.  "Yes — 
you're  quite  in  a  high  fever,  and  I  shall  send  for  Rupert."  She 
felt  his  hands  and  kissed  him. 

"No,  Poggy-Woggy,  please !  We  won't  have  Rupert  just  yet.  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  it,  and  then  I  shan't  be  so  bad.  I  didn't  want 
to  come  home  and  have  Joan  jumping  all  over  me." 

"Very  well,  dear!  Come  and  let's  be  quiet  and  you  tell  me  all 
about  it.    Of  course  it's  Miss  Straker." 

Of  course  it  was;  and  as  Charles  told  the  whole  truth,  and 
wouldn't  tell  anything  but  the  truth ;  and  as  he  never  could  soften 
anything  without  showing  obviously  that  he  was  softening;  the 
story  presented  itself  to  Peggy  as  an  ugly  one  enough.  Still  it  was 
impossible  to  say  that  there  were  no  circumstances  whatever  in 
which  a  young  woman  might  be  alone  in  a  Park,  yet  blameless. 
Only,  how  about  Exeter  Hall?  It  was  a  case  for  absolute  suspen- 
sion of  opinion,  pending  enquiry.  Peggy  was  thoroughly  aware 
that  even  in  making  such  enquiries  there  would  be  danger.  For  the 
sister  who  (however  warrantably)  stickles,  doubts,  negotiates,  op- 
poses, in  the  preliminaries  of  a  brother's  marriage,  must  be  pre- 

242 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  243 

pared  to  stand  or  fall  by  the  event.  If  it  conies  about,  she  will  be 
the  sister  in  Law  alone,  not  in  affection,  of  her  brother's  wife;  if 
it  does  not,  her  brother  will  pass  through  a  crescendo  movement 
of  forgiveness,  ending  in  a  triumphant  wedding-march  with 
another  lady,  with  gratitude  ohhligato  to  herself. 

Peggy  was  wise,  and  took  up  the  position  that  the  matter  must 
be  cleared  up  at  once,  in  justice  to  Miss  Straker.  It  was  probably 
easily  explainable,  if  only  we  looked  it  in  the  face.  "You  stupid 
boy,"  said  she,  "you  don't  mean  to  say  you  would  go  on  and  marry 
this  poor  girl  without  speaking  to  her  about  this?  Then  why  not 
speak  now  ?  As  she  herself  said,  there  ought  to  be  no  concealments 
between  you." 

"No — Poggy  darling!  But  fancy  my  going  to  her  first  thing 
after  the  way  we  parted  only  a  few  hours  ago,  and  bursting  all 
this  on  her  only  because  of  a  sound  in  her  voice,  a  movement  of 
her  hand.  If  it's  all  nonsense,  as  most  likely  it  is,  think  of  the 
figure  I  shall  cut!" 

"That's  true  enough,"  said  Peggy,  "I  didn't  think  of  that.  But 
why  shouldn't  I  go  to  see  her,  and  try  if  I  can't  touch  the  point 
without  scaring  her?  I  should  soon  see  if  there  was  anything 
in  it." 

"How  should  you  set  about  it?" 

"Don't  know — goosey! — till  I  try.  I  should  be  guided  by  the 
conversation.  Now  just  you  let  me  go  and  see  her  at  once  and  see 
if  I  don't  get  enough  to  clear  up  the  mistake — it's  only  a  mistake, 
I'm  sure! — and  I'll  come  straight  back  here  and  put  your  mind 
at  ease.  Will  she  be  at  home?"  Peace  dawned  in  poor  Charley's 
storm-worn  heart,  and  he  kissed  his  sister  and  called  her  a  duck 
and  an  Angel.  Yes,  most  likely  she  will  be  at  home.  So  off  goes 
Peggy  straightway. 

Poor  Peggy !  She  had  undertaken  a  difficult  task.  She  felt  like 
Judas  as  she  kissed  what  she  did  not  suppose  was  certain  to  become 
her  sister  on  the  cheek.  "From  what  Charley  tells  me,  dear  Miss 
Straker,"  said  she,'  "I  think  I  may  take  it  as  certain  that  he  has 
chosen  you  for  his  wife,  and  that  you  have  chosen  him  for  your  hus- 
band. None  of  his  family  know  it,  except  myself.  And  I  have 
come  at  once  to  tell  you  that  whoever  my  brother  loves,  I  love,  and 
to  ask  you,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  to  think  of  yourself  as  already 
one  of  our  family."  She  felt  that  she  had  been  rather  making 
a  speech,  and  wasn't  sure  she  wasn't  a  humbug.  Perhaps  we  all 
feel  this  whenever  we  say  anything  consecutive.  Honesty  is  sup- 
posed to  be  fraught  with  jerks,  and  sincerity  with  sloppiness  of 
style. 


244  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

Miss  Straker's  eyes  sought  the  ground,  and  the  fine  eyelids 
asserted  themselves:  "Oh,  how  kind — how  generous  of  you,  dear 
Miss  Heath!    How  can  you  forgive  me?" 

"Forgive  you  for  making  my  brother  happy!  That  is  easy 
enough,"  Peggy  laughed.  The  conversation  that  followed  was 
general — but  on  the  same  lines.  Peggy,  however,  dwelt  on  the 
fact  that  her  own  action  was  quite  independent  of  any  of  her 
family,  whom  she  had  no  right  to  commit  in  any  way.  But,  said 
she,  no  one  of  us  would  ever  oppose  Charley  in  anything  he  had  at 
heart. 

"I  think  he  loves  me,"  said  Miss  Straker.  As  she  sat  on  the  sofa 
beside  Peggy,  with  her  head  drooped  and  her  eyelids  in  evidence, 
she  certainly  looked  well.  If  Peggy  had  seen  her  on  the  stage, 
she  would  have  said  how  true  to  Nature.  Seeing  it  done  in  daily 
life,  some  slight  idea  crossed  her  mind  that  it  was  like  on  the 
stage. 

"You  may  be  sure  he  always  means  what  he  says,"  said  she,  most 
untheatrically.  But  she  had  somehow  to  get  on  to  the  Park  ques- 
tion. How  should  she  do  it?  It  got  more  and  more  difficult. 
Suppose  she  was  to  try  round  by  Exeter  Hall,  and  see  if  she  could 
get  a  lift.  "You  are  very  fond  of  music,"  she  went  on;  "so  is 
Charley." 

"I  suppose  I  am  fond  of  music — ^yes,"  said  Miss  Straker.  "Some- 
times I  think  I  am  not — but  only  that  I  happen  to  have  a  voice,  and 
that  has  made  me  sing." 

"You  must  be  fond  of  music — or  how  could  you  stand  an  hour 
outside  Exeter  Hall,  waiting  for  the  doors  to  open  ?"  Miss  Straker 
looked  blank. 

"Oh  no !    I  never  did,"  said  she. 

"How  very  funny !  Charles  certainly  told  me  you  told  him  about 
standing  outside  Exeter  Hall  one  evening." 

Was  it  or  was  it  not  the  case  that  Miss  Straker  was  biting  her 
lips,  and  looking  a  little  pale?  There  was  a  pause  of  a  few 
seconds  before  she  spoke.  When  she  did  there  was  the  least  shade 
of  snappishness  in  her  tone. 

"What  can  make  Mr.  Heath  say  so?  It  must  have  been  some- 
where else  I  said — the  Egyptian  Hall  perhaps  ?" 

"Very  likely,"  said  Peggy,  conciliatorily,  "but  it  doesn't  the  least 
matter.  Charley  made  a  mistake."  For  Peggy  had  got  a  little 
alarmed,  and  was  not  prepared  to  rush  the  position.  "Perhaps," 
she  said,  "you  are  fonder  of  music  than  you  think,  and  if  you  had 
to  do  altogether  without  it,  you  would  miss  it  very  much.  I  dare- 
say you  practise  a  great  deal  ?"    But  Miss  Straker  did  not  answer 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  245 

the  question,  and  seemed  uneasy.  She  went  back  to  the  previous 
conversation.    "Are  you  sure  he  said  Exeter  Hall?" 

"Quite  sure."  And  as  Miss  Straker  had  revived  the  point  her- 
self, Peggy  resolved  to  carry  it  a  little  further.  "Quite  sure. 
Because  he  said  he  must  have  been  mistaken  in  fancying  he  saw 
you  somewhere  else  the  same  evening." 

There  could  be  no  doubt  about  it.  Miss  Straker  was  very  dis- 
quieted. She  twisted  her  fingers  into  one  another,  cleared  her 
throat,  and  fidgeted  as  she  sat. 

"Where  did  he  think  he  saw  me  ?"  she  said.  But  the  attempt  to 
speak  unconcernedly  was  not  a  success. 

"In  Regents  Park  coming  through  a  gate  in^  the  inner  circle,  by 
the  Botanic  Garden.  Some  one  was  following  the  person  he  took 
for  you,  and  she  asked  the  man  at  the  gate  to  say  she  had  gone 
in  the  opposite  direction."    Miss  Straker  was  certainly  very  pale. 

"There  is  my  mother,"  said  she,  as  a  knock  came  at  the  street- 
door.  She  left  the  room  hurriedly,  as  though  to  meet  her  coming; 
but  her  steps  mounted,  audibly.  One  easily  hears  the  difference 
between  going  upstairs  and  going  down. 

"Et  puis!  Ne  se  trouve-t-elle  pas  a  la  maison — ^ma  fille?"  said 
the  Goblin,  coming  in  a  minute  or  so  later.  "Ow-do-you-do,  Mees- 
seece?  She-as-leave-you-by-your.  Self-eet-ees-rude."  Peggy, 
wisely  abstaining  from  school-room  French,  said  Miss  Straker  had 
just  gone  upstairs.     She  was  afraid  she  might  be  unwell. 

"She  was  veriwell  zeessmor.  Ning  I  will  go  and  see,"  said  the 
Ooblin,  and  went  upstairs. 

Then  Peggy  heard  scraps  of  a  colloquy  which  was  (like  the  one 
Charles  had  overheard  under  the  same  circumstances)  probably 
more  audible  owing  to  the  speakers'  taking  for  granted  it  would 
not  be  understood. 

"Non — non!  Je  ne  me  sens  pas  malade  .  .  .  ne  chuchotte  pas 
.  .  .  ni  tu  n'as  pas  besoin  de  beugler.  N'est  il  pas  possible  de  parler 
a  demi-voix  sans  vociferer?"  .  .  . 

"Tu  me  reproches  toujours !  .  .  .  Mais,  qu'est  ce  quelle  a  dit — en 
effetl" 

"C'etait  lui!"  The  rapid  speech  disappeared  behind  a  closed 
door,  and  became  a  murmur.  Presently  the  door  opened,  and  she 
caught  Miss   Straker's  words. 

"Dis  comme  je  le  vous  ai  dit!  Moi  je  ne  bouge  pas.  Je  reste 
ici."  The  old  woman  said  something  which  might  have  been 
**Mon  tyran,"  and  came  downstairs. 

"Elle  a  un  peu  de  vertige,  ma  fille.  She-as-geedness-of-de- 
Lead.    Mais,  Mademoiselle  m'a  bien  compris  I    Ce  n'est  rien  I"    For 


246  ALICE-rOE-SHORT 

Peggy  had  been  betrayed  in  a  rash  moment  into  saying  in  French 
that  she  comprehended.  It  let  Madame  loose,  releasing  her  from 
English, 

"Ce  n'est  rien!  ga  va  passer — affaire  d'une  demi-heure!  Plait- 
il?  Mais  comment  faut-il  vous  en  aller — si  pen  de  temps!  Vrai- 
ment,  si  vous  vous  en  allez,  je  dois  payer  I'amende.  Elle  me 
blamera."  But  Peggy  insisted  on  departing.  She  had  distinctly 
heard  Miss  Straker  say  she  would  not  come  down  again,  so  where 
was  the  use  of  stopping?  Neither  she  nor  the  Goblin  really  cared 
for  conversation,  and  the  latter  very  likely  did  not  know  how 
quick  events  had  moved.  If  she  had  she  would  have  broached  the 
subject,  instead  of  talking  about  how  her  daughter  bullied  her. 
She  appeared  to  be  referring  to  a  recent  blowing-up,  without  con- 
sidering that  Miss  Heath  was  not  supposed  to  know  anything 
about  it. 

"Ma  fills  me  fait  toujours  le  bouc-emissaire  de  ses  bevues.  Vous 
savez  bien  ce  que  c'est — le  bouc-emissaire?" 

But  Peggy  didn't  know,  and  the  Goblin  didn't  know  what  the 
English  equivalent  was.  This  made  both  feel  the  limitedness  of 
their  communion;  so,  after  a  little  more  reciprocal  misunder- 
standing, for  civility's  sake,  leave-taking  developed  naturally  with- 
out dissatisfaction  to  either. 

Peggy  went  straight  back  to  her  brother,  thoroughly  unhappy 
about  the  whole  concern.  What  did  it  matter  if  Miss  Straker  was 
unable  to  account  to  him  for  the  fact  that  she  was  out  alone  late 
in  Regents  Park?  There  might  be  a  thousand  ways  of  explain- 
ing that.  But  nothing  could  clear  away  the  apparently  deliberate 
falsehood  about  her  having  been  elsewhere  at  the  time.  And  what 
Peggy  had  overheard  seemed  to  supply  the  motive  for  it.  "C'etait 
lui,"  the  last  words  she  had  heard  as  the  door  closed,  could  only 
mean  that  Miss  Straker  had  caught  sight  of  some  one  she  thought 
Charles,  and  had  feared  that  he — whoever  he  was — also  had  seen 
her,  and  had  then  fudged  up  the  Exeter  Hall  story  to  cover  contin- 
gencies. Why,  if  she  recognised  him,  she  should  not  speak  to  him 
and  get  his  companionship  and  protection  home  was  a  mystery  to 
Beggy.  But  then  she  forgot  that  a  young  lady  who  did  not  know 
her  brother  as  she  did,  might  not  think  him,  as  she  did,  an  Angel — 
or  if  human,  a  preux  chevalier  at  least. 

She  told  Charley  all  her  interview  with  the  daughter,  and  so  far 
as  she  could  be  sure  of  the  French,  of  the  rest  of  her  conversation 
with  the  mother.  It  was  all  miserably  unsatisfactory;  almost 
damnatory,  so  far  as  telling  a  lie  went.  Peggy  saw,  before  she 
left  Charles,  that  his  feverish  misery  and  anxiety  were  changing  to 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  247 

angry  conviction.  Fearing  he  should  rush  into  an  extreme  in  this 
direction,  and  do  Miss  Straker  more  injustice,  she  tried  to  soften 
matters.  "You  know,  dear  Charley,"  she  said,  "there  are  so  many 
things  it  might  have  been.  And  think  what  a  girl's  terror  would  be 
of  one  false  construction  that  might  have  been  put  on  her  being 
there  alone  at  that  time.  Do  you  know;  I  almost  think  I  myself 
might  have  gone  the  length  of  a  good  round  lie  imder  the  circum- 
stances." 

"No,  you  wouldn't.  Peg.  You  would  have  up  and  explained. 
You're  only  saying  that  to  exonerate  her." 

"Oh,  Charley !  You're  getting  too  hard  on  her  before  you  know. 
Now  do,  dear  boy,  do  as  I  say.  Or  let  it  be  this  way — ^I'U  write 
to  her  at  once,  and  say  that  I  by  my  stupidity  have  made  you  un- 
comfortable.   Put  it  all  on  me." 

"What  good  will  that  do  ?  I  should  have  to  tell  her  when  and  how 
I  recognised  her — the  night  before  last  when  I  came  away!  Oh, 
Peggy,  it  will  never  be  the  same  thing  again.  It's  all  spoiled!" 
And  the  poor  fellow  broke  down  and  was  so  miserable,  that  Peggy 
saw  there  was  only  one  remedy  possible — unreserved  explanation. 
If  Miss  Straker  collapsed,  and  Charles  threw  her  off  as  worthless, 
was  that  such  an  evil?  It  would  be  less  pain  for  him  to  know  the 
truth  now  and  get  it  over,  than  to  be  undeceived  about  her  too 
late.  Besides,  who  could  say  how  completely  she  might  not  clear 
herself?  Anyhow,  she  was  entitled  to  a  frank  indictment  and  a 
fair  trial. 

It  was  settled  that  Charles  should  see  her  forthwith  and  should 
speak  plainly.  Peggy  was  bidden  to  stay  a  week  in  the  country 
with  a  friend.  She  had  to  be  ofp  very  soon  to  pack:  in  fact,  she 
looked  at  her  watch  over  it.  But  Charley  would  write  to  her  all 
about  it  directly,  wouldn't  he?  And  he  wouldn't  go  and  do  any- 
thing desperate,  that  was  a  dear  boy,  would  he  ?  Peggy  kissed  him 
exhaustively,  and  said  good-bye.  But  she  went  away  with  mis- 
givings in  her  heart. 


CHAPTEE  XXIV 

OP  MISS  PRTNNe's  second  ghost,  and  her  cat,  MOSES.  SHE  IS  NOT 
SO  SCRAGGY,  AFTER  ALL.  PSYCHICAL  RESEARCH.  HOW  CHARLES 
BROKE  MISS  STRAKER  QUITE  OFF.  MISS  GEORGIE  ARROWSMITH. 
PEGGY  WILL  SEE  MISS  STRAKER  AGAIN 

Poor  Charley  could  not  screw  his  courage  up  to  sticking  point. 
It  was  perhaps  a  relief  to  him  that  Mr.  Jerrythought  appeared,  and 
took  him  away  to  lunch.  This  gentleman,  the  largeness  of  whose 
heart  seemed  capable  of  welcoming  the  widest  possible  circle  of 
friends,  had  recently  been  absorbed  into  the  bosoms  of  the  Miss 
Prynnes  on  the  second  floor.  This  rapprochement  had  been  effected 
by  a  second  appearance  of  the  same  ghost  in  the  sacred  bedchamber 
of  the  ladies,  at  an  early  hour  of  the  morning ;  when  there  was  no 
doubt  the  door  was  locked,  and  was  found  locked  by  the  occupants; 
who  when  full  daylight  came  mustered  courage  to  get  up  and  over- 
haul the  apparition  of  the  gloaming.  Its  authentication  as  a 
spectre  had  cleared  Mr.  Jerrythought's  character,  and  expressions 
of  the  remorse  of  the  two  youngish  ladies  for  the  injustice  they 
had  done  him  were  reported  without  reservation  by  Mrs.  Parwig, 
whom  we  think  we  have  mentioned  before.  You  may  remember 
perhaps  that  she  did  for  the  Miss  Prynnes.  She  also  did  out 
Mr.  Jerrythought.  But  these  doings  out  were  sporadic — she  only 
done  the  top-tenant  out  now  and  again,  just  to  get  him  a  Httle  tidy, 
or  wherever  would  he  'a'  been?  Her  function  in  the  incident  on 
hand  was  to  convey  to  Mr.  Jerrythought  the  apologies  of  the  two 
ladies,  and  their  sense  of  the  injustice  they  done  him,  without 
committing  either  party  to  an  acknowledgment  that  it  knew  the 
other  party  giv'  Mrs.  Farwig  leave  to  say  any  such  a  remark  passed. 
Nobody  was  to  know  that  anything  of  any  sex  whatever  had  been 
seen  prowling  about  the  apartments  of  its  anti-types. 

Nevertheless  the  second-floor  had  felt  that  amends  were  due  to 
the  attics,  and  had  wished  them  a  good-morning,  on  the  stairs. 
iThe  attics  were  not  going  to  miff  off  and  be  huffy,  and  had  re- 
sponded. Both  were  conscious  that  the  substratum  of  events  was 
the  ghost;  but  that  if  alluded  to  at  all,  it  would  have  to  be  when 
acquaintance  was  maturer.  Another  step  forward  was  made  owing 
to  a  Persian  cat,  the  property  of  the  Miss  Prynnes,  finding  that  a 

248 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  249 

chair  in  the  attic  studio  was  good  to  sleep,  curl  up,  and  stretch  on. 
The  first  time  this  cat,  whose  name  was  Moses,  appeared  iu  2Ir. 
Jerrythought's  room  enjoying  a  refreshing  slumber  on  the  said 
chair,, that  gentleman,  not  realising  its  identity,  conceived  the  idea 
of  taking  it  by  the  scruif  of  the  neck  and  ejecting  it.  But  Moses 
was  capable  of  intense  deliberation  combined  with  inconceivable 
rapidity  of  action.  When  the  scruff  was  within  a  yard  of  the 
hand  that  was  to  take  it,  Moses  began  to  consider  placidly  what 
he  should  do  when  it  should  be  within  a  foot.  He  turned  the  matter 
well  over  in  his  mind,  without  undue  haste,  and  decided  that  if  it 
came  nearer  he  would  get  ready  to  move  towards  the  door.  When 
it  was  an  inch  off,  he  varied  his  programme  and  went  away  with 
a  flicket,  in  the  opposite  direction.  He  left  the  room  after  trying 
to  rip  the  floor  up,  and  yawning.  But  having  seen  that  the  chair 
was  good,  he  reappeared  in  it  at  intervals  (without  allowing  himself 
to  be  influenced  by  closed  doors  and  windows)  and  when  missed 
downstairs  would  be  reclaimed  by  his  owners.  Probably  he  was 
mainly  responsible  for  the  visiting  acquaintance  between  the  sec- 
ond-floor and  the  attics  having  so  mellowed  that  comparison  of 
notes  about  the  ghost  had  become  possible  by  the  time  Charles 
and  Mr.  Jeff  were  lunching  together  at  Cremoncini's,  at  the  pres- 
ent moment  of  this  story.  Even  Charles's  painful  preoccupation 
(ascribed  by  Jeff  to  stomach)  did  not  altogether  prevent  his  paying 
attention  to  this  last  appearance  of  the  ghost.  Let  us  follow  Jeff's 
narrative : — 

"She  ain't  so  very  scraggy  when  you  come  to  shake  hands  with 
her — the  youngest  one  I  mean.  It's  more  as  a  couple  it  tells,  and 
then  you  notice  it.  No!  I  should  say  the  youngest — she's  Miss 
Dorothea — didn't  run  over  eight  and  twenty  to  thirty.  She  saw 
the  ghost.  They  admitted  they  was  in  bed — but  then,  of  course, 
I'm  gettin'  like  an  old  acquaintance '* 

"But  I  say,  Jeff,  this  was  before  it  was  daylight,  as  I  under- 
stand." 

"Yes,  sort  o'  half-light." 

"Then  where  the  dickens  would  they  be  hut  in  bed  ?"  And  to  this 
Jeff  replies  enigmatically,  "Some  women  are  like  that,  when  single." 
And  rather  makes  a  parade  of  his  knowledge  of  the  varieties  of  this 
strange  animal. 

"The  scraggiest  one — she's  Miss  Laura — she  didn't  see  the  ghost, 
or  only  just.  She's  an  excellent  sort  of  female,  you  know,  Charley; 
I've  nothing  to  say  against  her — only  it's  no  use  trying  to  draw 
a  veil  over  her.  It  would  be  affectation!  Because  forty  she  is, 
and  scraggy  to  a  degree " 


250  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

•  "But  about  the  ghost — the  ghost!  How  much  did  the  scraggy 
one  see?" 

"She  couldn't  see  because  her  eyes  don't  come  open  easy  first 
thing  in  the  morning.  But  Miss  Dorothea  saw  her  quite  plain. 
She  had  a  lot  of  grey  hair  and  a  sort  of  sacque  as  they  used  to  call 
'em — flowered  silk — and  one  hand  to  her  side.  I  told  'em  in  my 
opinion  it  was  the  ghost  of  the  bones  in  the  cellar — you  recollect?" 

"Rather!  Why,  it's  not  a  twelvemonth  ago.  But  don't  you  see 
what  it  is,  Jeff?  They  read  all  about  the  bones  in  the  newspapers, 
and  how  there  was  a  flowered  silk  ball-dress,  and  then  they  go  and 
see  a  ghost  to  match.  They  don't  see  exactly  the  same  thing — 
that  would  be  flat  and  uninteresting.  They  make  the  dress  a 
peignoir,  and  the  powdered  toupee  comes  out  grey  hair.  Then  the 
bones  had  been  run  through,  so  they  stick  her  hand  to  her  side. 
But  that's  what  it  is,  of  course !"  The  code  of  honour  in  matters  of 
Psychical  Research  is  so  very  queer  that  Charles  thought  nothing 
of  consciously  keeping  back  Alice's  detail  of  the  hand  on  her  side. 
He  was  not  going  to  encourage  superstition. 

"Now — I  say!"  Jeff  is  indignant.  "What  on  earth  have  the 
Miss  Prynnes  to  gain  by  cookin'  up  a  ghost?" 

"They  don't  cook  it  up,  my  dear  Jeff !  Of  course  Miss  Theodora 
thought  she  saw  the  ghost,  just  as  she  described  it." 

"Thought  be  hanged!"  says  Jeff.  "Besides,  her  name's  Doro- 
thea." He  is  very  unconvinced,  but  it  is  because  a  slight  has  been 
put  upon  his  ghost.  If  the  ghost  had  originated  elsewhere  he  might 
have  gone  on  another  tack. 

Charles's  temper  is  not  at  his  best,  because  of  his  circumstances. 
They  make  him  supercilious  and  irritating.  "I  should  be  inclined 
to  refer  the  second  ghost  to  a  mere  reflex  action  of  the  nerve- 
centres." 

"Reflex  Grandmother!"  interjected  Jeff;  "I  tell  you  what, 
Charley !    If  you're  going  to  talk  rot,  I  shall  'ook  it." 

"Reflex  action  of  the  nerve  centres,  consequent  on  having  seen 
the  first.  The  first  one  is  less  difficult  to  account  for.  It  was  out 
in  the  passage,  and  we  haven't  got  to  deal  with  the  difficulty  of 
the  locked  door." 

"Who  saw  a  ghost  himself?  Come  now,  Charley  'Eath,  answer 
that!  Who  saw  a  feminine  form  in  a  flowered  silk  dressing-gown?" 

"Of  course  I  did !  I  was  coming  to  that,  only  you're  in  such  a 
hurry,  Jeff!  Well,  we  know  that  one  wasn't  a  ghost,  because  I 
never  see  ghosts.  I  ought  to  know.  Well !  Mrs.  Farwig  goes  and 
talks  all  about  that  ghost  to  the  Misses  Prynnes,  and  they  being 
only  a  couple  of  silly  hysterical  women,  of  course  go  and  see  a 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  251 

ghost  of  the  same  pattern.  They'll  see  some  more  like  it  directly 
— you  see  if  they  don't!" 

"Now,  do,  you,  mean,  to  say,"  says  Jeff,  see-sawing  his  words,  as 
one  who  warms  up  to  argument,  "that  Miss  Dorothea  Prynne  is  a 
lady  you  wouldn't  believe  on  oath  ?  And  if  so,  why  not  a  ghost  on 
the  stairs  as  well  as  anything  else  ?" 

"Because  of  its  intrinsic  improbability."  Charles  is  rather  proud 
of  this,  but  Jeff  flouts  it.  "Intrinsic  Grandmother !"  says  he.  He 
is  in  the  habit  of  resorting  to  this  form  of  sneer.  It  is  not  complex, 
and  appears  to  be  to  some  minds  exhaustive. 

The  discussion  of  the  ghost  goes  on  as  such  discussions  do,  not 
exactly  confirming  the  opinions  of  the  controversialists  (for  they 
may  have  none),  but  strengthening  their  respective  determinations 
to  uphold  the  first  thesis  each  has  committed  himself  to.  This  is. 
called  sticking  to  the  point,  and  each  enjoins  the  other  to  stick 
to  it  at  intervals;  always  meaning  of  course  his  own  point,  not 
the  other's.  If  the  discussion  is  about  a  ghost,  neither  cares  much 
about  the  question,  but  each  is  usually  in  love  with  his  own  self- 
assertion,  as  in  the  present  case. 

When  each  had  told  the  other  several  times  that  he  was  per- 
fectly unreasonable,  Charles  and  Jeff  went  back  to  work ;  the  latter 
perhaps  to  wonder  at  himself  for  having  espoused  the  cause  of  Miss 
Dorothea's  testimony  so  strongly,  the  former  to  recollect  how 
unhappy  he  was  and  what  an  unpleasant  task  he  had  before  him. 
For  even  if  some  explanation  was  forthcoming,  the  Exeter  Hall 
story  was  a  fib — must  have  been ! 

As  soon  as  ever  he  could  brood  over  his  trouble  again  undisturbed, 
he  brooded.  Did  it  cross  his  mind,  we  wonder,  in  the  smallest  pos- 
sible degree  that  he  had  just  been  able  to  take  a  certain  interest 
in  a  wrangle  about  a  ghost,  in  spite  of  it?  However,  it  is  quite 
true,  no  doubt,  that  it  came  back  upon  him  in  full  force  when  left 
to  himself. 

He  brooded  continually,  but  could  not  bring  himself  to  go 
straight  to  Miss  Straker,  as  he  ought  to  have  done,  and  as  he  had 
arranged  to  do  with  Peggy.  Somehow  it  had  seemed  easier  to  him. 
to  do  it,  in  her  presence.  His  courage  had  failed  him  now,  and  he 
could  not  even  bring  himself  to  write  until  quite  late  in  the  even- 
ing. Then  after  a  long  letter  to  Peggy,  in  which  he  said,  "I  am 
writing  to  Lavinia," — a  convenient  ambiguity, — ^he  wrote  another 
to  the  latter  saying  that  all  must  be  at  an  end  between  them.  She 
herself  had  truly  said  that  there  must  be  no  concealments  on 
either  part,  and  he  could  not  but  feel  after  what  his  sister  had  told 
him  of  their  interview  two  days  since  that  his  own  confidence 


252  ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 

in  her  had  been  misplaced ;  as  apparently  in  order  to  avoid  inquiry 
into  something  possibly  quite  blameless  in  itself  she  had  resorted 
to  a  statement  that  was  at  least  a  subterfuge,  and  after  such  a 
thing  had  once  come  to  his  knowledge  it  was  impossible  that  his 
feelings  for  her  should  remain  unchanged.  She  had  not  treated 
him  as  he  had  treated  her.  She  could  imagine  what  it  cost  him  to 
say  farewell,  but  he  could  see  no  other  course  open  to  him.  He 
had  much  better  have  saved  himself  so  many  words,  and  written: 
"You  told  me  a  lie  about  Exeter  Hall,  and  you  must  have  had  a 
good  reason;  so  I  won't  marry  you.  It's  off!"  Why  must  letter- 
writers  always  be  so  sententious  ? 

"Oh  dear — oh  dear!"  said  Peggy,  when  she  had  read  through 
Charles's  letter  to  her,  containing  an  abstract  of  the  above,  "what 
a  mess  that  dear  boy  does  get  into  whenever  I'm  not  there  to  look 
after  him!"  And  then  under  pledges  of  strictest  secrecy  she  told 
the  facts  and  showed  the  letter  to  a  very  great  friend,  "the  eldest 
daughter  where  she  was  staying"  (we  absolve  ourselves  from  any 
share  in  the  construction  of  this  phrase,  by  inverted  commas),  and 
that  young  lady's  remarks  are  worth  recording.  Though  only 
twenty-three,  she  had  had  great  experience. 

"Fancy  breaking  it  off  on  high  moral  grounds !  As  if  that  could 
last !"    Peggy  felt  her  own  position  called  for  some  justification. 

"I  didn't  want  it  broken  off,  Georgie  dear.  I  only  wanted  all  to 
be  clear  as  soon  as  possible." 

"Well,  of  course,"  said  Georgie,  who  always  posed  as  an  author- 
ity, "if  there's  to  be  a  row,  the  sooner  the  better !  It's  no  use  hold- 
ing in — it's  worse  when  it  comes." 

"It's  such  an  injustice  to  the  poor  girl " 

"Bother  the  poor  girl!"  interjects  Georgie. 

" to  pass  judgment  on  her  in  this  sort  of  way.    What  can  she 

possibly  do  ?  Write  and  beg  pardon  ?  What  would  you  do  yourself 
now,  Georgie?" 

"I  should  write  fast  enough.  But  I  shouldn't  beg  pardon.  What 
would  it  be  for?  I  might  confess  to  the  wrong  murder.  No!  I 
should  tell  him  it  was  clear  he  had  never  loved  me — that  he  didn't 
love  me  now — that  it  was  evident  he  loved  some  one  else — naming 
who,  where  possible.  I  should  point  out  that  he  had  slighted  and 
insulted  me,  but  for  all  that  I  should  never  love  another,  and  I 
should  wind  up  by  suggesting  that  I  should  pass  the  rest  of  my  life 
praying  for  his  happiness." 

"But  it  would  be  so  much  better  to  have  a  complete  explanation 
iand  get  it  all  clear " 

"Would  it  though?     Now  look  here,  Margaret!     My  way,  the 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  253 

chap  would  be  on  his  knees,  begging  my  pardon,  and  promising 
never  to  do  so  any  more.  Explanation-way,  it  would  be  jaw,  jaw, 
jaw,  and  there  would  never  be  an  end  of  it!  Besides,  in  affairs  of 
this  sort  it's  no  use  bringing  in  foreign  matter — morality  and  jus- 
tice and  right  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  However,  no  doubt  you 
would  be  glad  for  this  one  to  come  to  an  end — ^now  wouldn't  you  V* 

"The  only  thing  that  would  make  me  glad  would  be  that  Charley 
should  be  happy,  and  now  he  won't  be." 

We  are  sorry  that  Peggy's  friend.  Miss  Arrowsmith,  has  no  more 
place  in  this  story,  because  it  seems  to  us  that  there  is  much  in  her 
suggestion  that,  in  the  court  of  Love,  Love  himself  should  be  judge 
and  jury,  police  and  witnesses,  usher,  gaoler,  executioner — ^that  he 
should  write  the  records,  grant  the  reprieves,  forge  the  fetters, 
sharpen  the  axes,  keep  the  key  of  the  stocks — reward  the  deserving, 
and  reprimand  the  culprits.  We  have  re-worded  her;  but  if  that 
was  what  she  meant,  we  are  inclined  to  agree. 

Peggy  wrote  back  to  Charles  begging  him  to  go  at  once  and  give 
poor  Lavinia  a  chance  to  defend  herself.  She  also  wrote  to  Rupert, 
ordering  him  to  go  without  delay  to  Charles,  and  telling  him  what 
to  say.    He  did  as  he  was  bid,  going  straight  to  the  Studio. 

"That's  what  Peg  says  I  am  to  say,  Charley,"  said  he,  when  he 
had  finished. 

"Miss  Straker  can  write,"  said  Charles,  grimly.  "What  do  yoH 
think  yourself,  Paracelsus?" 

"Tell  me  more  about  the  Park  incident.  Was  this  man  with  her 
there  ?" 

"No — he  was  following  at  some  distance.  She  might  have  out- 
walked or  outrun  him."  He  put  his  palette  and  brushes  down, 
and  leaned  his  mahl-stick  against  the  angle  of  the  chimney-piece; 
obviously,  a  pipe  was  better  than  trying  to  work  when  you  couldn't 
work. 

"I  don't  think  anything  of  the  incident  in  itself,"  he  resumed, 
"if  only  she  hadn't  told  that  Exeter  Hall  story!  No — Paracelsus 
dear !  I'm  not  the  only  man  that  ever  was  disillusioned.  There's 
nothing  for  it  but  to  forget  it."  And  Charles  sits  on  and  pulls 
at  a  consolatory  pipe,  gazing  at  the  fire  on  the  hearth  (for  fire- 
time  came  again,  with  decision,  some  time  since),  and  his  friend 
stands  opposite  to  him,  in  all  the  fulness  of  his  own  triumphant 
happiness,  and  feels  a  greater  pity  from  the  contrast  of  their  lots. 
But,  whatever  his  instructions  were  from  headquarters  (perhaps 
heartquarters  would  be  nearer  the  mark)  he  was  not  going  to  say 
a  word  that  would  start  the  hare  afresh.  It  was  clearly  best  that 
Charley  should  pass  through  this  experience,  and 


254  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

And  what?  What  Paracelsus  nearly  said  to  himself  was,  "And 
marry  a  decent  woman."  But  he  didn't  quite  say  it;  he  paused 
and  amended  the  unissued  thought  into,  "Peggy  will  find  somebody 
to  console  him." 

But  Peggy  wasn't  going  to  begin  this  quest  till  her  conscience 
was  quite  happy  about  Miss  Straker.  When  she  came  back  a  few 
days  after,  she  found  Charles  had  received  no  reply  to  his  letter. 
"But  I  tell  you  this  plainly,  Charley,"  said  she,  "if  I  had  received 
such  a  letter  as  yours  myself,  I  should  have  torn  it  up  in  a  rage. 
/  wouldn't  have  answered  it,  and  I'm  not  surprised  at  Lavinia  not 
having  done  so."  She  was  to  be  Lavinia  still,  in  Peggy's  mouth 
at  least.  Was  Charles  quite  certain  he  welcomed  the  fact,  after 
doing  so  much  forgetting — of  which  the  first  forty-eight  hours 
had  been  so  very  painful  and  laborious?  Would  he  not  rather 
have  had  some  more  definite  assistance  towards  his  present 
attitude  ? 

"I  tell  you  what  I  shall  do,"  said  his  sister,  "unless  you  positively 
order  me  not.  I  shall  go  to  Lavinia  myself  and  talk  about  it,  and 
get  at  the  whole  truth.    I  suppose,  Charley  dear " 

"Yes,  Poggy-Woggy — what  ?" 

"I  suppose  that  if  it  all  turns  out  a  lot  of  mares'-nests,  you  will 
be  glad — really  glad?" 

"Oh,  Poggy  dearest,  who  wouldn't  be  glad  in  my  circumstances  ? 
What  do  you  take  me  for?" 

"A  dear  silly  old  boy.    I  shall  go  to  Lavinia  to-morrow,  anyhow !" 

How  much  better  it  would  be  if  everybody  always  let  every  one 
else's  love  affairs  alone — shut  their  eyes  tight  and  looked  the 
other  way.    But  we  don't  want  to  blame  Peggy,  mind  you ! 


CHAPTEK  XXV 

CHARLES  AND  JEFF  GO  TO  SEE  VERRINDER.     HE  WILL  NOT  USE  HIS  OLD 
PAINTS  ANY  MORE 

Charles  felt  much  too  desoeuvre  to  work  effectually,  and  in  the 
course  of  his  broodings  over  the  position  found  himself  sandwich- 
ing into  his  personal  reveries  a  good  deal  of  Jeff's  ghost;  that  was 
the  description  his  mind  recognised  the  last  appearance  by.  He 
regarded  his  own  as  more  authentic;  Alice's  original  venture  as 
the  most  so.  They  lost  value  in  proportion  to  the  amount  of  sug- 
gestion preceding  their  occurrence. 

The  ghost  reminded  him  that  he  had  never  been  to  hunt  up 
Verrinder  again.  That  would  be  a  nice  thing  to  do  now.  He 
would  get  Jeff  to  come  and  they  would  go  together.  It  was  the 
fifth  of  November;  a  grey  negative  day — wasn't  going  to  snow — 
wasn't  going  to  rain — much  too  apathetic!  It  would  be  a  capital- 
day  for  the  fireworks.  So  Charles  and  Jeff  decided,  as  they  char- 
tered a  promising  hansom  for  the  expedition.  They  spoke  of  "the 
Fireworks"  as  one  of  the  necessities  of  the  year — as  Protestants 
and  Englishmen ! 

Jeff  was  acquainted  with  the  general  bearing  Verrinder  had  on 
the  house,  and  understood  that  light  might  be  thrown  on  Charles's 
ghost  by  him,  and  indirectly  on  his  own.  However  much  Charles 
might  regard  it  as  "purely  subjective,"  he  intended  to  appropriate 
any  illumination  thrown  on  the  one  as  equally  applicable  to  the 
other.  He  spoke  unhesitatingly  of  both  subjectivity  and  objectivity 
as  Grandmother.  His  frequent  use  of  this  expression  compels  repe- 
tition ad  nauseam-. 

"I  was  in  two  minds,"  said  Jeff  as  the  cab  rolled  away,  "whether 
to  invite  the  Miss  Prynnes  to  come  too  (of  course  askin'  you  first, 
Charley,  don't  you  know)  !  Only  they  couldn't  both  have  rode 
bodkin." 

"You're  a  nice  chap !  Besides,  I  don't  see  why  the  Miss  Prynnes 
should  be  in  it." 

"They  saw  the  ghost.  No !  Really,  Charley  'Eath,  you  may  make 
game;  but  Miss  Dorothea's  a  very  intelligent  person." 

"We  couldn't  have  done  it  without  two  cabs,  for  all  that."    Both 

255 


256  ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 

instinctively  avoid  discussion  of  how  to  divide  the  pictured  images 
of  the  four  between  the  cabs  they  couldn't  have  done  without,  in 
order  not  to  grapple  with  the  point  of  which  should  ride  with 
which.  It  is  the  elder  Miss  Prynne  (a  mere  vague  potentiality  in 
this  case)  that  is  the  real  stumbling-block.  Charles  feels  a  change 
of  subject  would  be  considerate. 

"I  say,  Jeff!  You've  lived  in  Paris.  What  does  a  Mossoo  mean 
by  a  misery-nosegay?" 

"A  what?" 

"A  misery-nosegay." 

"Somebody's  been  'oaxin'  you.    What's  the  French  for  itf 

"A  Bouquet-misere.  What's  that  if  it  isn't  a  misery-nosegay? 
An  old  party  said  it  to  my  sister  Peggy." 

Jeff  puzzled  about,  trying  the  words  over  and  over,  and  at  last 
announced  that  he'd  spotted  it.  "It's  what  the  Mossoos  call  that 
picture  of  Holman  Hunt's — 'Le  bouc-emissaire.'  The  scrape-goat, 
don't  you  know,  in  the  Wilderness.  But  then  they  call  all  sorts  of 
things  all  sorts  of  things !  You  never  know  where  to  have  'em." — ■ 
And  with  such  conversation  they  whiled  away  the  time  during  the 
drive  to  Lambeth. 

The  neighbourhood  seemed  replete  with  Guys — more  so  than  in 
what  Charles  accounted  the  more  civilised  regions  north  of  the 
Thames.  A  vigorous  Protestantism  seemed  to  flourish.  As  they 
stood  on  the  doorstep  of  the  house  Verrinder  lived  in  the  attics 
of,  an  extremely  young  group  of  anti-Papists  assailed  their  ears 
with  the  corrupt  and  worthless  modern  substitute  for  the  original 
exhortation  to  sympathise,  which  was  sufficient  in  our  youth.  In 
old  times  they  would  have  paraded  their  inability  to  see  any  reason 
why  Gunpowder  Treason  should  ever  be  forgot.  Now  they  said, 
"Guy  Fox  Guy,  hit  him  in  the  eye,"  which  seemed  unhistorical. 
The  Guy,  in  their  case,  was  a  very  small  boy,  conducted  by  hand, 
owing  to  his  mask  not  fitting,  and  obscuring  his  vision.  He  solic- 
ited a  penny  to  burn  himself — an  appeal  that  would  have  touched 
a  harder  heart  than  Charles's. 

The  first  pulls — plausible  ones — at  two  of  the  bells  on  the  door- 
posts were  ignored.  The  second  series,  backed  by  a  knock  that 
spoke  impatience,  was  answered  with  reluctance.  The  function  of 
the  door-opener,  when  it  was  at  last  opened,  appeared  to  be  to 
oppose  ingress,  yet  to  act  as  a  medium  of  communication  with  a 
concealed  authority.  The  result  was  not  encouraging.  The  author- 
ity would  not  undertake  to  say  Mr.  Verrinder  was  not  in,  but  would 
not  interest  itself  actively.  Its  manner  suggested  disbelief  that 
any  one  could  possibly  want  to  see  Mr.  Verrinder.    "Do  you  knoWj 


ALICE-FOK-SHOET  267 

Mr.  Verrinder?"  it  shouted  from  its  lair  at  tKe  end  of  a  long 
passage.  Charles  said  yes,  unquestionably!  "I  suppose  you  know 
he's  right  up  atop  o'  the  house?"  Charles  said  he  had  been  up  to 
Mr.  Verrinder's  room  once  before.  The  authority  thereon  appeared 
in  its  shirt-sleeves,  rolled  up,  and  stood  soaping  its  arms  at  the 
end  of  the  passage.  "I  suppose,"  said  their  owner,  a  sallow  and 
depressed  man,  "I  may  rely  on  you  two  gentlemen  to  say  I  never 
give  leave,  to  exornerate  me  from  bein'  'awled  over  the  coals ;  if  so, 
up  you  goes,  and  welcome!"  Charles  gave  the  required  under- 
taking, and  the  door-ward  relaxed.  "It  ain't  Mr.  Verrinder  so 
much  as  my  missis  I'm  keepin'  in  view,"  said  the  soaper,  still  luxu- 
riating in  soap-strokes  all  down  his  arms. 

Charles  and  Jeff  passed  up  the  wooden  stairs;  not  followed  by 
the  girl  who  had  opened  the  door,  but  conscious  that  the  soaper 
came  out  along  the  passage  and  glanced  up  after  them. 

He  went  back,  seeming  satisfied.  No  tenant  appeared  on  the 
way  up,  except  a  sudden  young  man,  who  flung  his  door  wide 
open,  said  abruptly,  "Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  quite  unreasonably, 
and  shut  it  again  with  a  slam. 

The  door  of  the  room  Charles  had  entered  by  on  his  previous 
visit  was  closed,  and  no  answer  came  to  his  knock.  He  knocked 
more  than  once.  Verrinder  evidently  wasn't  there.  *'T  shall  risk 
trying  the  door,  as  we've  come  such  a  long  way,"  said  Charles ;  "he 
may  be  asleep."  But  the  door  was  locked.  They  pushed  cards 
tinder  the  door;  then  turned  and  went  downstairs. 

Charles  went  down  in  front.  Jeff  did  not  follow  closely.  "It's 
no  use  stopping,  Jeff,"  said  Charles,  "we  must  give  it  up  and  leave 
a  message."  But  Jeff  hung  back.  "What's  the  rumpus,  Jeff  ?"  said 
Charles  from  below. 

"Just  come  up  here  haK-a-minute.  It's  rum!  At  least  I  can't 
make  it  out."  Charles  went  up  again.  The  reason  he  was  sum- 
moned was  that  Jeff,  as  his  eye  came  on  the  level  with  the  keyhole, 
saw  that  it  was  black ;  while  he  had  noticed  that  light  was  coming 
through  the  opening  they  had  pushed  the  cards  through. 

"The  key's  in  the  lock,"  said  Jeff. 

"What  of  that?" 

"How  did  he  lock  the  door  when  he  went  out  ?" 

"There's  another  lock." 

"No,  there  isn't.    He's  in  there  still." 

"Oh  no!  He  came  out  by  the  other  door — there's  a  door  to  the 
Other  room.  Come  along,  Jeff!  We'll  mention  it  downstairs.  De- 
pend on  it,  Mr.  Soapy  knows.  Come  along!"  But  for  all  that 
Charles  remembers  clearly  that  pictures  were  piled  thick  against 


258  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

that  other  door.  It  was  from  there  Verrinder  took  the  portrait  of 
Phyllis. 

"Hain't  you  found  him  ?"  says  the  soapy  one,  coming  forth  dry, 
and  pulling  on  an  overcoat.  He  has  been  smartening  for  an 
excursion,  and  must  be  utilised  before  he  reaches  the  street  door. 
He  means  going,  clearly. 

"We  haven't  found  him.  And  his  door's  locked  inside.  And 
the  key's  in  the  door." 

"S'pose  he's  out !"  The  speaker  ignores  the  difficulties  in  the  way 
of  this  solution — perhaps  does  not  perceive  them.  "Amelia!"  A 
response  comes  from  the  basement. 

"Mr.  Verrinder's  gone  out,  ain't  he?"  The  maid-of -all-work 
comes  to  the  surface. 

"He  hasn't  took  in  his  milk — nor  yet  the  can — nor  yet  I  haven't 
heard  him."  Then  she  ends  up,  as  it  strikes  Charles,  most  incon- 
secutively.  "I  shouldn't  worrit,  Mr.  TatnaU,  if  I  was  you."  But 
she  waits,  wiping  her  hands  on  her  apron. 

Mr.  Tatnall  appears  to  be  considering — in  fact  to  have  for  the' 
moment  put  aside  his  intention  to  go  out.  He  seems  to  hope  that 
sucking  his  cheeks  in  and  feeling  for  inspiration  on  their  new- 
shaved  surfaces  with  his  thumb  and  middle  finger  will  lead  to 
results,  but  does  not  seem  satisfied  with  what  he  gets.  Presently  he 
half  asks,  half  affirms :  "He's  been  at  his  game  again,"  the  question- 
ing half  being  addressed  to  Amelia,  who  in  return  says,  "What  did 
I  say  to  Missis?" 

"What  is  Mr.  Verrinder's  game?"  asked  Charles. 

"What  did  the  'Pothecary  call  it  this  time?"  Thus  Mr.  Tatnall 
to  the  servant,  who  still  stands  wiping  her  hands  on  her  apron,  and 
seeming  to  pin  her  faith  on  it. 

"Mr.  Verrinder  said  go  to  the  photograph  shop.  That's  where  I 
got  it." 

"That's  about  it,  gentlemen!"  said  Tatnall,  beginning  to  move 
away  satisfied.  "He  stoopifies  himself  with  chloroform.  He'll 
come  round  soon.  You  knock  at  his  door  again  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour — he'll  answer  to  you.  Give  him  a  quarter  of  an  hour."  And 
off  goes  Mr.  Tatnall,  more  interested  in  his  appointment  than  in  his 
top-tenant. 

Charles  and  Jeff  decide  on  giving  him  a  quarter  of  an  hour ;  the 
former  very  uneasy,  remembering  that  Kavanagh  had  purchased  his 
cyanide  of  a  photographer.  They  will  take  a  walk  round,  and  call 
in  again  shortly.  An  inspiration  seizes  Amelia,  and  she  takes  her 
hands  from  her  apron  to  point  through  the  open  street-door. 

"If  you  was  to  walk  round  by  the  Horspital  and  ask  for  Dr. 


ALICE-rOE-SHORT  259 

Pludyer,  he  knows  Mr.  Verrinder."  Her  speech  is  full  of  elision 
and  implication,  but  it  serves  its  turn.  Charles  quite  understands, 
and  knows  "the  Hospital"  is  Bethlehem  Hospital,  or  Bedlam. 

Dr.  riudyer  is  easily  attainable — knows  Verrinder — ^had  better 
come  round,  and  will  be  ready  in  a  minute. 

"Can  a  man  kill  himself  with  Chloroform  ?"  asks  Charles,  as  they 
walk  briskly  towards  the  house. 

"He's  only  got  to  take  enough  of  it." 

When  they  arrive,  Amelia  has  reblacked  her  hands,  and  has  to 
have  a  new  wipe.  They  all  go  upstairs.  This  time  the  sudden 
young  man  only  peeps  out  discreetly  and  retires  in  silence. 

They  knock  at  the  door  again — under  tension.  "He  was  there 
last  night,"  says  Amelia,  perhaps  anticipating  an  enquiry. 

"I'll  take  on  myself  to  have  the  door  broken  open,"  says  the 
doctor,  after  a  moment's  consideration.  "Unless  there's  another 
way  in."  Charles  remembers  the  lead-flat  sunk  in  the  roof,  and 
suggests  the  question  of  its  attainability.  There  may  be  a  trap- 
door. Yes,  it  is  slowly  elicited  that  there  is.  Up  them  steps ;  'ooked 
np  to  the  ceilin'.  Also  that  there  is  a  young  man  has  been  out 
on  the  roof  many's  the  time — and  he  may  happen  to  be  downstairs 
now.  Amelia  goes  to  seek  him — though  why  it  has  been  so  difficult 
to  get  at  this  trapdoor  and  this  young  man  is  not  clear.  However, 
he  comes  with  alacrity,  is  out  on  the  leads  and  finds  the  window 
unfastened,  and  gets  through  and  opens  the  door  in  much  less 
time  than  it  took  to  discover  his  existence.  How  the  room  smells  of 
chloroform ! 

There  are  the  remains  of  a  scanty  supper  on  the  table — or  rather 
what  gives  the  impression  that  the  supper  was  scanty.  On  a  peg 
on  the  half -open  door  of  a  cupboard  Charles  identifies  the  napless 
hat  and  highly  polished  coat.  A  defective  umbrella  stands  open 
on  its  circumference  to  dry  in  a  corner.  Last  night  was  drizzly. 
He  had  come  in  wet,  had  eaten  in  his  loneliness  whatever  two  cold 
chops  off  the  neck  and  the  balance  of  those  cheerless  potatoes  repre- 
sented; and  had  (so  it  is  silently  supposed)  gone  away  to  rest  on 
the  other  side  of  that  closed  door  each  hesitates  to  open, 
either  from  doubt  or  certainty  of  what  may  be  found  on  the  other 
side. 

Dr.  riudyer  acts  first — as  he  knew  him  best — and  goes  into  the 
room;  the  others  follow.  The  smell  of  chloroform  gets  stronger. 
The  bed  is  occupied.  The  doctor,  going  first,  turns  down  the  cover- 
lid, which  has  all  the  appearance  of  being  pulled  tight,  for  com- 
fort, round  the  back  of  the  nightcapped  head.  He  takes  hold  of  the 
ehoulder,  and  shakes  the  motionless  figure.    But  it  remains  stifE 


260  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

and  unresponsive.  It  will  never  respond  to  human  touch  again. 
Whatever  its  occupant's  story  on  this  earth  was,  it  is  over 
now. 

But  he  must  have  become  insensible,  and  died,  one  might  almost 
say,  in  comfort.  The  figure  is  in  the  attitude  that  most  courts 
sleep — a  perfect  pre-arrangement  for  a  long  night's  rest.  The 
only  evil  feature  is  the  towel  pressed  close  round  the  mouth  and 
nose,  and  firmly  held  in  front  with  both  hands.  He  had  poured 
the  chloroform  on  it,  and  so  lay  down  to  sleep.  "Yes,"  said  Dr. 
Fludyer,  as  he  removed  it,  "he  did  this  every  night;  at  least  every 
night  when  he  couldn't  sleep  without  it — ^most  nights,  I  fancy. 
This  time  he  took  more  than  he  reckoned  on.  About  twelve  hours 
ago !  .  .  .   What  ?  .  .  .    Oh  no ! — nothing  to  be  done.    Stone-dead." 

The  three  men  and  the  girl  go  back  into  the  sitting-room  without 
a  word,  closing  the  door  very  gently.  All  are  white  but  the  doctor; 
the  girl  is  ashy  white.  Of  course  it  is  all  in  the  doctor's  line,  he  is 
merely  grave — to  hurt  nobody's  feelings.  In  this  case  it  is  doubt- 
ful if  there  is  any  one  to  hurt.  "I  will  see  to  all  there  is  to  be 
done,"  he  says;  "there  is  no  immediate  hurry.  Did  you  two  gentle- 
men know  poor  Verrinder  well  ?"  Charles  tells  in  the  fewest  words 
how  very  little  he  has  known  of  him,  and  ends  by  volunteering  to 
be  of  any  use. 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  done  that  I  cannot  do,"  says  Dr.  Flud- 
yer; "unless  you  know  of  any  of  his  relations?  He  assured  me 
that  he  was  absolutely  alone  in  the  world,  except  for  the  one  person 
through  whom  I  happened  to  know  him.  A  patient  over  at  the 
Hospital."  He  nods  out  at  the  window,  towards  the  dome  of  the 
madhouse.  He  speaks  with  reticence,  and  Charles  does  not  like  to 
press  enqi;iry.  His  acquaintance  with  the  dead  man  had  been  so 
slight.  He  repeats  that  he  has  told  everything  he  knows  of  him, 
and  feels  that  he  and  JeS  have  no  reason  for  remaining;  may  even 
be  de  trop.    But  the  doctor  continues  speaking  of  him: 

"I  knew  him  fairly  well — poor  chap!  So  far  as  any  one  could 
know  him.  But  he  was  very  reserved.  I  don't  think  he  was  really 
so  poor  as  he  seemed — but  he  would  not  spend  anything  on  himself. 
Once  he  said  to  me  that  he  was  putting  by  money  in  case  he  should 
ever  have  a  home  again."  The  doctor  had  followed  Charles's 
glance  round  the  bare  apartment. 

"Will  there  be  an  inquest?"  said  Charles. 

"I  think  probably  not.  I  don't  think  you  need  anticipate  being 
bothered  about  that." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  the  trouble." 

"Well,  anyhow,  I  think  there  won't.    I  shall  make  an  autopsy—* 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  261 

tliere's  sure  to  be  fatty  heart  or  something  of  the  sort.  The  dose 
of  chloroform  I  allowed  him  could  not  have  killed  a  healthy  man." 

"How  do  you  know  he  didn't  exceed  it  ?" 

"I  don't  know — ^he  may  have  done  so.  I  could  only  give  him 
directions  and  trust  to  his  doing  as  I  told  him.  I'm  afraid  when 
there's  a  craving  for  ansesthetics,  promises  are  worth  very  little." 

"He  didn't  kill  himself,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Charles,  hesitatingly. 

"Intentionally  ?  Oh  no — oh  dear,  no !  He  only  did  what  he  may 
have  done  fifty  times  before,  for  anjrthing  I  know.  He  overdid 
the  dose,  and  this  time  the  heart-complaint  met  it  half-way.  You 
say  you  met  him  at  the  Royal  Academy  Schools?  He  was  talking 
about  them  to  me  a  little  while  ago — said  one  of  the  young  men 
had  given  him  three  tubes  of  colour — seemed  very  much  pleased 
about  it." 

"I  recollect.  One  of  the  chaps  did.  I  recollect  his  talking  about 
his  old  box  of  colours,  and  how  there  were  some  old  bladders  in  it 
that  he  said  had  belonged  to  Reynolds." 

"Oh  yes!  I've  seen  that.  It's  under  that  bookcase.  I  daresay 
you  feel  curious  to  look  at  it." 

It  was  pulled  out  and  placed  on  the  table,  near  the  potato  desola- 
tion. Charles  opened  it,  and  felt  in  touch  with  an  earlier  world. 
Fifty  years  or  more  ago  an  artist,  who  must  have  known  these 
colours  were  authentic,  had  given  this  box  to  a  young  man  full 
of  hope,  longing  for  and  believing  in  his  use  of  it  in  the  future.  It 
was  all  past  now,  future  and  all,  and  the  years  had  borne  no  fruit ; 
and  the  heart  that  had  beaten  so  high,  that  long  half -century  ago, 
was  dead  at  last.  The  colour-tubes  in  the  tray  were  hard,  and  the 
dippers  clogged  with  dried  heeltaps  of  oil  and  varnish.  The  badger 
softener  was  indurated  and  awry,  and  the  blade  of  the  palette- 
knife  had  a  waist.  Charles  felt  curious  to  see  one  of  the  little 
bladders  of  which  he  had  heard,  if  one  remained,  and,  seeing  none 
above  the  tray,  lifted  it  to  search.  Underneath  lay  a  letter.  Dr. 
Fludyer  was  giving  some  direction  to  the  servant. 

"Here's  a  letter  directed  to  you,  doctor."  Charles  handed  it  to 
him  as  he  spoke.  He  felt  it  was  time  for  him  and  Jeff  to  be  going. 
To  stay  on  would  be  like  waiting  to  hear  the  contents  of  the  letter. 
Charles  closed  the  box,  and  prepared  to  go.  Dr.  Fludyer  merely 
looked  at  the  direction  and  slipped  the  letter  in  his  pocket. 
"I  expected  this,"  he  said,  "but  it  was  an  odd  place  to  hide 
it  away  in.  Very  lucky!  Will  you  two  gentlemen  leave  me 
your  names  and  addresses?  I  ought  to  be  off  too.  They  want 
me  round  there.  I  shall  come  back  in  an  hour  or  so."  Charles 
said,  as  he  handed  him  his  card,  he  would  come  over  in  a  day  or 


262  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

two  to  hear  the  results  of  the  post-mortem.  But  the  doctor  replied, 
"Don't  come — I'll  write!"  and  they  said  good-bye  and  went  down- 
stairs. 

The  perverse  young  man  put  his  head  out  again,  and  said,  "Is 
it  from  Nesbitt's?"  and  begged  more  pardon  when  he  heard  it 
wasn't.  As  they  reached  the  street-door  a  latch-key  clicked  in  it, 
and  Mr.  Tatnall  entered.  The  appointment  had  involved  beer, 
manifestly!  His  depression  and  sallowness  had  disappeared  to- 
gether. Charles  felt  disinclined  to  be  his  informant  about  his 
tenant's  death,  or  doleful  changes  to  ring  in  any  form ;  feeling  that 
really  Mr.  Tatnall  would  have  to  pretend  solemnity  and  be  hypo- 
critical, and  the  clash  would  be  too  great.  The  beer  however 
asserted  itself,  and  told  its  human  bottle  to  say,  jocularly :  "Hain't 
he  slept  it  off  yet?  Won't  you  give  him  another  quarter  of  an 
hour?" 

"Shall  we,  Charley?    Would  it  be  any  use?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  use.    Come  along!" 

And  they  went  away,  leaving  Mr.  Tatnall  to  hear  the  news  from 
Amelia,  or  otherwise,  as  might  happen. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

HOW  ALICE  KNEW  ALL  ABOUT  IT.  ALICE's  RING  AND  THE  JEWELS 
THEREON.  MISS  STRAKER's  LONG  LETTER,  WHICH  CHARLES  DID  NOT 
READ  TO  HIS  FATHER.  BUT  HOAV  ABOUT  EXETER  HALL  ?  OF  SCRUNCHY 
DAYS  AND  SQUASHY  DAYS.  HOW  PEOPLE  TALK.  WAS  CHARLES  PER- 
HAPS   UNFAIR,   AFTER  ALL? 

Charles  was  looking  no  doubt  very  miserable  and  depressed 
when  he  went  to  see  his  family  the  evening  after  this.  He  did  not 
know  how  far  the  whole  story  of  himself  and  Miss  Straker  had  be- 
come public  property,  but  he  had  an  uneasy  sense  that  he  was  being 
treated  considerately,  and  this  made  him  uncomfortable.  As  he  had 
quite  made  up  his  mind  that  the  whole  thing  had  come  to  an  end, 
it  would  have  pleased  him  best  that  it  should  never  have  been 
known  to  have  existed — it  would  have  been  comfortabler  that  even 
Peggy  should  have  been  in  ignorance  of  it.  But  he  could  not  find 
out  how  far  the  event  had  taken  substantial  form  in  the  eyes  of  his 
family.  As  often  happens  after  any  exciting  occurrence,  it  was 
not  easy  to  recall  exactly  what  had  passed  and  in  what  order  of 
events,  and  to  assign  to  each  recollection  its  own  proper  import- 
ance. It  certainly  seemed  to  him  this  evening  that  there  was  a  dis- 
position to  treat  him  as  the  killed  and  wounded  after  a  battle, 
physically  as  well  as  spiritually;  the  former  tendency  showing 
itself  in  concessions  of  the  most  comfortable  chairs  or  sofa- 
cushions,  or  the  best  place  in  front  of  the  fire,  or  having  a  fresh 
brew  of  tea  made  instead  of  letting  him  drink  that  horrid  black 
stuff;  while  the  latter  took  the  form  of  an  almost  flamboyant 
silence  about  love-affairs  and  engagements,  and  indeed  young 
ladies  in  general — they  being  the  true  gist  of  such  matters — but 
Miss  Straker  in  particular. 

This  atmosphere  of  Red-Cross  effort  on  Charles's  behalf  in- 
creased if  anything  at  dinner,  later  in  the  evening.  There  was  no 
company ;  therefore  the  presence  of  Champagne  had  to  be  accounted 
for.  Charles  perceived  in  it  not  only  a  benevolence  towards  him- 
self, as  one  prostrated  by  the  strain  of  trying  experiences,  but  also 
an  element  of  Bacchanalian  rejoicing  at  a  fortunate  delivery  from 
a  regrettable  embarrassment.    He  was  grateful  for  the  former — not 

263 


264  M.ICE-FOR-SHOET 

for  the  latter.  Nobody  (unless  it  was  his  father)  had  been  in  his 
confidence,  and  he  would  have  appreciated  a  more  vigorous  ignoring 
of  the  whole  thing.  He  could  not  shake  free  from  the  idea  that 
Archibald  wanted  to  wink  at  him,  and  say — "Well  out  of  that 
scrape,  Charley,  old  chap !" — that  Robin  wanted  to  offer  some  form 
of  congratulation,  but  that  if  he  did  speak  he  would  take  refuge 
in  some  inapt  abstraction;  for  example: — "It's  always  something 
of  that  sort,"  or — "There's  nothing  like  making  one's  mind  vip,"  or 
even — "You  can't  help  things  happening,  don't  you  know!"  He 
felt  perfectly  certain  that  if  informed  of  the  Park  incident,  his 
brothers  would  discern  in  it  a  fishy  start,  and  that  Ellen  was  simply 
longing  to  break  out  against  Miss  Straker.  As  for  the  boys,  they 
were  at  school,  and  although  he  paid  Alice  a  visit  in  Mrs.  Part- 
ridge's dominions  (where  she  continued  to  live  either  because  Mrs. 
Partridge  didn't  want  to  give  her  up,  or  from  mere  normal  con- 
tinuance), he  said  nothing  to  her  about  Miss  Straker.  She  is  still 
so  very  young,  thought  he  to  himself. 

But  the  truth  is  Alice  was  old  enough  to  understand  a  great  deal 
about  it;  little  girls  always  do.  Our  own  opinion  is  that  the 
younger  they  are  the  more  they  know,  and  that  inexperience  comes 
on  them  unawares  between  childhood  and  womanhood.  The  fact 
is,  Alice  had  catechised  Peggy,  and  acquired  a  compendious  insight 
into  the  plot  of  the  story.  Charles  had  been  very  fond  of  Miss 
Straker;  ever  so  fond — as  fond  as  that — indicated  by  palms  held 
far  apart — and  Miss  Straker  was  naughty,  and  Charles  was  sorry. 
That  was  all,  and  was  clear.  He  may  have  suspected  that  the 
pathetic  blue  eyes  behind  his  little  protegee's  rough  hair  were 
brinmiing  over  with  pity  for  Mr.  Charley,  and  that  she  was  quite 
at  a  loss  how  to  console  him.  She  could  sit  on  his  knee,  however — 
even  under  the  circumstances  in  which  he  found  her  this  evening, 
just  retiring  for  the  night;  and  Alice  was  very  nice  in  a  suitable 
costume,  and  it  was  possible  to  criticise  her  toes.  Charles  thought, 
as  he  always  did  about  Alice,  what  a  good  day's  work  he  did 
that  day  he  put  her  in  a  hansom  and  brought  her  home  to  the 
Gardens. 

He  had  said  but  little  to  Peggy  before  dinner  about  Lavinia. 
Peggy  had  not  been  to  see  her  yet,  but  would  do  so  if  she  got  an 
encouraging  answer  to  a  letter  she  had  written  two  evenings  back. 
None  had  come  so  far.  Their  long  talk  had  been  about  Verrinder, 
and  the  end  of  Charles's  fruitless  excursion  to  see  him.  Peggy 
was  much  concerned  at  his  untimely  death — untimely  in  the  sense 
that  it  took  away  the  last  chance  laiown  to  them  of  throwing  light 
on  No.  40.    Charles  must  find  out  about  what  would  be  done  with 


ALICE-FOK-SHOET  265 

his  pictures,  and  try  to  buy  that  one  of  Phyllis  Cartwright.  They 
had  just  been  talking  about  the  ring  and  the  ghost,  or  rather 
ghosts,  when  Charles's  attention  was  caught  by  something  in  the 
next  room,  and  Peggy  did  not  succeed  in  recalling  it  till  dinner  was 
announced. 

"Now — let's  look  at  the  ring!"  said  she  to  Charles,  when  the 
latter  came  into  the  drawing-room  after  smoking  time — that  is, 
after  his  smoking  time;  for  the  others  remained  behind.  Any 
abnormal  action  of  his  was  put  down  to  his  recent  love-affair,  and 
his  abrupt  withdrawal  after  smoking  one  cigarette  was  nodded 
over,  and  said,  hm!  or  ah!  about,  as  by  sagacity  that  could  quite 
pierce  the  meaning  of  that.  Sagacity  may  have  been  right  this 
far,  that  he  did  go  upstairs  expecting,  or  hoping,  to  find  a  letter 
had  reached  Peggy.    But  the  post  had  not  yet  come. 

"Yes!  It's  always  fun  guessing  over  mysteries,"  said  he.  For 
Peggy  had  been  propounding  an  idea  that  the  names  of  the 
stones  on  the  ring  or  their  initials  formed  some  sort  of  posy,  or 
anagram,  that  might  afford  a  clue  to  work  upon.  "Let's  have  a 
look  at  the  ring.    There's  the  post!"  .  .  . 

"No — it's  not.  That's  Eupert.  He's  only  come  for  a  short  time 
though,  as  he  has  to  get  back  to  a  patient.  Now,  look  here !  You 
know  that  ring  of  Aunt  Sarah's,  with  ruby,  emerald,  garnet,  ame- 
thyst, ruby,  diamond — all  the  initials  spell  regard,  which  was,  I 
suppose,  the  sentiment  our  great-grandfathers  felt  for  our  great- 
grandmothers ^" 

"It  sounds  chilly,  nowadays!  Let's  look  at  this  ring  the  same 
way.  The  emerald's  the  biggest.  It  ought  to  begin  there.  What's 
the  next  one?" 

"Amethyst,  silly  boy !  Call  yourself  an  Artist  and  not  know  an 
Amethyst  when  you  see  one.  Come  here  and  help,  Rupert !  That's 
a  ruby,  comes  next.  Well!  That  spells  ear;  emerald,  amethyst, 
ruby.  That's  a  pearl  comes  next.  I  suppose  you  know  a  pearl 
when  you  see  it?"  .  .  . 

"Why  didn't  you  take  the  diamond  for  the  initial?"  asks  Eupert; 
"that  would  make  dear;  there  would  be  some  sense  in  that." 

"To  be  sure!  Sharp  boy,  go  to  the  top  of  the  class.  Then 
another  emerald.  Then  a  sapphire.  Then — what's  this? — a  topaz. 
TDearest !' — Well  done  us !  And  the  next  letter's  P.  I  say,  Charley, 
darling,  it's  going  to  be  Phyllis." 

"There's  no  reason,  remember,  why  it  should  be  Phyllis  merely, 
because  there  was  once  a  person  of  that  name  at  the  house." 

"I  know — dear  prosy  old  boy !    But  there's  no  reason  we  shouldn't 


266  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

make  it  Phyllis,  if  we  can.  What's  this  next  stone?"  But  alas! 
Nobody  knew.  It  was  a  red-brown  stone,  followed  by  a  deep  blue 
opaque  one.  Then  an  opaque  yellowish  white  one.  Then  another 
sapphire. 

"How  disappointing!"  said  Peggy.  "You  see,  even  if  we  got 
the  letters  we  want,  there's  not  enough  of  them.  We've  only  3ve 
and  we  want  seven.  There  is  the  post !"  And  Peggy  put  the  ring 
back  on  her  finger,  and  it  wasn't  examined  again  for  many  many 
years. 

For,  even  as  she  drew  the  ring  on,  a  letter  was  being  brought  up- 
stairs that  was  to  make  a  difference,  and  a  great  one,  in  the  lives  of 
both.  "It's  her  handwriting,"  said  Charles,  affecting  Stoicism. 
The  moment  he  saw  the  letter  he  began  thinking  about  believing  he 
had  done  Miss  Straker  an  injustice.  Her  not  writing  had  fortified 
him.  If  she  had  not  told  him  a  lie,  how  simple  to  write  and  say 
so.  He  had  not  been  able  to  see,  as  Peggy  did,  that  his  own  letter 
was  one  that  keen  resentment  and  sense  of  undeserved  wrong 
might  leave  unanswered  just  as  much  as  conscious  guilt.  He  had 
taken  the  letters  from  the  servant  to  pass  on  to  his  sister ;  but  she 
left  Miss  Straker's  in  his  hand,  to  open  himself,  if  he  liked.  He 
continued  to  practise  Stoicism,  and  laid  it  on  the  sofa,  between 
them. 

"Well— Charley?" 

"1  know  there  can  be  nothing  satisfactory  in  it " 

"Then  I  suppose  I  must  open  it.  What  a  goose  you  are,  Master 
Charley !  Isn't  he  now,  Rupert  ?"  Rupert  gave  an  amused  nod  of 
assent.    "Now  let's  have  the  letter,"  said  he. 

It  was  a  three-sheet  letter,  and  Peggy  became  absorbed  and  atten- 
tive. Charles  carried  his  affectation  of  stoical  indifference  the 
length  of  taking  the  opportunity  of  telling  Dr.  Johnson  all  about 
Verrinder.  It  cost  him  a  visible  effort,  but  he  may  have  been  satis- 
fied with  his  performance. 

"You're  always  coming  in  at  the  death,  Charley,"  said  Johnson. 
"I  know  Pludyer.  Man  with  a  complete  set  of  artificial  teeth.  Met 
him  on  a  very  interesting  mental  case — male  patient  thought  he 
was  his  own  aunt,  and  was  always  boning  her  caps  and  bon- 
nets  ^" 

"You've  always  got  some  rum  new  mental  case,  Paracelsus " 

"Well !  It's  a  subject  I've  always  had  a  hankering  for.  I  do  get 
a  good  deal  of  practice  that  way,  somehow.  I've  had  charge  of  any 
number  of  loonies " 

"And  now  you've  got  a  whole  family  on  your  hands  1" — This  was 
Peggy,  who  continued — "Now  don't  disturb  me.     I'm  reading." 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  267 

Which  was  most  unfair,  as  no  one  had  invited  her  into  the  con- 
versation. 

"Verrinder  died  of  the  Chloroform,  of  course.  But  Fludyer  will 
find  enough  fatty  heart  to  certificate  on.  He'll  deserve  the  grati- 
tude of  an  overworked  coroner.  Besides,  if  he  doesn't,  they'll 
be  down  on  him  for  allowing  a  patient  to  have  so  much  Chloroform. 
You  didn't  get  any  more  out  of  him  about  Verrinder — did  you? 
Who  was  the  patient  in  the  Hospital  ?" 

"I  think  he  didn't  want  to  tell  me.  He  might  tell  you 
perhaps." 

"They  are  reticent  about  this  sort  of  case,  naturally.  I'll  remem- 
ber to  ask  about  him.  If  we  talk  about  Verrinder,  he's  pretty  su^e 
to  mention  him,  and  then  it  will  come  easy." 

Beggy  got  to  the  end  of  the  letter,  and  said,  "Is  that  all?  Stop 
a  minute!"  Then  she  harked  back,  reperused,  harked  back  again; 
then  folded  the  letter  abruptly, 

"Don't  read  it  now,  Charley,  if  I  let  you  have  it." — Charles 
promised. — "Read  it  quietly  by  yourself,  and  think  it  well  over." 
He  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  then  left  the  room.  He  had  said  he 
would  smoke  a  pipe  in  his  father's  room  late,  and  have  a  quiet  chat. 
Mr.  Heath  Senior  had  gone  away  from  the  party  in  the  front  room, 
a  few  minutes  ago. 

"I  hope  I've  done  right,"  said  Peggy  to  Johnson,  when  the  door 
closed. 

"Are  you  afraid  of  a  recurrence  of  symptoms?  I'm  not.  I  be- 
lieve he  is,  as  he  said,  disillusioned.  However,  I  don't  know  what's 
in  the  letter,  of  course." 

Charles  and  his  father  settled  down  to  a  really  comfortable  chat ; 
one  which  ignores  bed,  and  is  conscious  of  toddy  and  lemons  and  a 
full  coal-scuttle.  "We'll  turn  off  the  gas  here,  Phillimore,"  re- 
leases that  prime-minister.  And  nothing  remains  but  to  inaugu- 
rate the  conversation  each  anticipates,  and  both  fight  shy  of,  after 
a  very  elaborate  arrangement  of  preliminaries. 

"We've  quarrelled  with  our  sweetheart,  I  understand?  Hey, 
Charley  boy?"  Charles  gives  a  shrug,  which  means  nothing,  but 
acknowledges  that  the  Bill  has  been  brought  up  for  consideration. 
The  old  boy  procures  a  reprieve  of  a  moment  or  two  in  connection 
with  choice  of  lumps  of  sugar  for  toddy,  and  then  says  vaguely: 
"Sweethearts?  Sweethearts  is  it?  Well,  we're  all  mighty  fine 
people !  Now  tell  us  all  about  it,"  and  leans  back  in  his  arm-chair, 
a  listener  with  closed  eyes. 

Charles  remembered  that  his  father  had  had  no  official  informa- 


268  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

tion  about  anything  that  had  happened  since  they  last  conversed 
on  the  subject.  Since  then  the  actual  sequence  of  events  was,  that, 
under  the  influence  of  a  letter  from  Miss  Straker  (which  had 
jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  what  was  no  more  than  a  well- 
advanced  flirtation  gave  her  a  right  to  anticipate  a  decisive  decla- 
ration), he  had  hurried  on  to  an  eclair cissement,  and  become  the 
declared  lover  of  the  young  lady,  with  no  more  knowledge  of  her 
character  and  antecedents  than  we  have  been  able  to  communicate 
to  the  reader  of  this  narrative;  probably  with  less,  for  we  (and 
you)  are  under  no  tender  influence  from  either  a  profile  or  an 
eyelid,  and  the  wonderful  soprano  is  only  a  hearsay  to  us.  That 
then  he  had,  as  he  thought,  identified  her  beyond  a  shadow  of 
doubt  as  having  been  in  Regents  Park  under  circumstances  that 
seemed  to  him  inexplicable,  at  the  very  time  that  she  assured 
him  she  was  waiting  at  Exeter  Hall  door  to  hear  The  Messiah. 
That  thereon  he  had  written  putting  an  end  to  all  relations  between 
them,  and  had  had  no  answer.  That  Peggy  had  thought  him  wrong 
and  hasty,  and  had  written  to  Miss  Straker.  That  he  had  the 
reply  to  her  letter  in  his  pocket,  unread.  All  these  things  Charles 
now  told  his  father,  and  ended  by  saying  that  yes,  certainly,  now 
it  was  all  over  between  them. 

"Unless  indeed,"  he  added,  "this  letter  contains  what  I  expect 
it  cannot  and  will  not  contain — a  complete  explanation  of  the 
Park  business,  and  her  lie  (because  it  was  a  lie!)  about  Exeter 
Hall."  He  touched  his  pocket  with  an  implication  in  the  action 
that  the  letter  would  remain  there  for  private  perusal  later  on.  His 
father  seemed  quite  to  accept  this  as  natural  and  just,  and  pre- 
ferred no  request  to  see  it. 

Perhaps  Charley  himself  felt  he  could  more  easily  wait  to  know 
its  contents,  because  he  wished  to  establish  justification  in  his 
father's  eyes  on  the  materials  of  the  status-quo.  He  wanted  his 
position  to  be  logical  from  existing  data,  and  if  the  letter  should 
contain  disturbing  new  elements,  to  have  time  to  think  them 
over  before  acting  on  them,  or  committing  himself.  The  thought 
was  not  clearly  outlined,  only  hazy. 

"I  cannot  see,"  said  he  in  conclusion,  "that  I  should  be  doing 
Miss  Straker  any  good  by  attempting  to  renew  a  relation  that  I 
feel  has  been  destroyed.  If  I  could  conceive  any  possible  explana- 
tion ..."    He  paused. 

The  half-closed  eyes  of  his  listener  opened  somewhat  and 
turned  round  towards  him.  "Charley  boy,"  said  he,  "you've  been  a 
fool !  You've  been  a  fool  all  along.  The  best  thing  you  can  do  now 
is  to  put  this  girl  out  of  your  head  and  attend  to  your  work.    Go 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  289 

away  to  some  of  these  foreign  places — Italy — Rome — and  study 
the  Fine  Arts  there.  Miss  Straker  won't  break  her  heart  about 
you — not  she!" 

Charles  flushed  perceptibly.  He  wasn't  quite  so  cool  yet  that  he 
could  bear  to  hear  her  spoken  of  slightingly  by  any  one  but  himself. 
His  father  continued :  "Quite  right  to  look  indignant !  But  she 
won't,  for  all  that!  You  go  to  Italy  and  Rome — you  needn't 
stick  about  the  money.  Besides,  if  I  wasn't  here  to  pay  the  bills, 
there's  a  lot  of  money  of  your  Aunt  Grace's  that  will  come  to  you. 
Just  you  think  about  it!" 

Charles  didn't  think  the  suggestion  at  all  an  unpleasant  one, 
but  he  didn't  like  being  told  he  was  a  fool.  He  knew  he  was,  but 
would  have  preferred  to  be  complimented  for  his  wisdom  in  know- 
ing it.  Feeling  he  hadn't  much  to  say  in  self-defence,  he  pulled 
away  at  his  pipe  till  its  extinction,  and  waited  on  until  his  father 
came  to  the  end  of  his  cigar,  without  saying  anything.  The  cigar 
went  on  to  its  extremest  end,  the  smoker  resorting  to  a  penknife 
point  to  hold  it  when  it  scorched  his  fingers.  As  he  closed  the  pen- 
knife he  turned  to  his  son,  and  said:  "Ah,  well!  We're  not  all  of 
us  as  wise  as  we  might  be.  You  know  why  your  aunt  left  you  that 
money,  Charley?" 

"Because  she  was  sure  I  should  never  make  anything  by  my  pro- 
fession. Perhaps  I  shan't."  Charles  felt  quite  hopeful  though,  in 
his  heart,  for  all  that.  Little  he  knew  of  the  days  that  were  to 
come,  when  men  then  scoring  by  annual  thousands  were  to  live  in 
dread  of  bankruptcy.  He  was  in  some  mysterious  way  to  be 
lucky,  said  Hope.  However,  it  was  satisfactory  to  think  that  his 
aunt  had  left  him  two ,  hundred  a  year.  He  felt  hurt  that  she 
should  have  insulted  him  in  her  will.  "Because  he  will  never  do 
anything  as  an  artist"  was  the  reason  asigned  for  a  life  interest 
in  five  thousand  pounds ;  he  wasn't  to  be  trusted  with  the  principal, 
perhaps  wisely. 

"It  won't  do  to  marry  on,  my  boy.  However,  I  don't  believe  you 
would  marry  without  my  consent  and  your  mother's,  and  of  course 
if  we  liked  your  wife  we  should  help  you.  I'm  very  glad  you  are 
off  with  Miss  Stretcher — what's  her  name  ? — ^because  so  far  as  I  can 
see  neither  your  mother  nor  I  should  have  liked  her.  By  the  bye, 
how  long  had  you  known  her  altogether?     Three  months?" 

Charles  didn't  answer,  but  raised  the  question  of  bedroom  can- 
dlesticks. 

He  was  a  bit  cowardly  about  reading  the  letter,  but  when  he 
found  himself  alone  in  the  bedroom,  still  reserved  for  him  as  a 


270  ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 

resource  against  the  severities  of  Bohemia,  he  had  no  further 
e;xcuse  for  not  reading  it.    He  opened  it  and  read  as  follows : — 

"Dear  Miss  Heath  : 

"I  will  write  to  you,  but  not  to  your  brother — ^he  has  treated 
me  cruelly — oh,  cruelly! — and  I  will  not  see  nor  speak  to  him 
again " 

Charles  was  not  prepared  for  such  Prussian  tactics.  He  wished 
to  monopolise  the  position  of  the  initiator — the  injured  person  who 
had  a  right  to  resentment.  The  letter  went  on  on  lines  identical 
with  those  suggested  by  Georgie  Arrowsmith. 

"But  I  forgive  him.  It  is  not  because  my  own  feelings  towards 
him  have  changed  or  could  ever  change,  that  I  write  this.  It  is 
because  I  see  now  that  he  does  not  love  me — that  he  has  never 
loved  me.  Happiness  could  never  have  been  ours,  even  if  the  great 
social  obstacles  between  us  could  have  been  overcome.  I  cannot 
bring  myself  to  think  that  these  have  had  any  share  in  his  hasty 
and  unfeeling  conduct — for  I  will  call  it  no  worse  than  that — 
Oh  no !  He  is  too  good  and  generous — that  can  never  have  influ- 
enced him!" 

Charles's  conscience  wriggled  uneasily;  now  (upon  his  honour) 
was  he  positively  certain  he  had  never  said  to  himself  that  at  any 
rate  if  he  did  lose  Lavinia  there  would  be  peace  and  quiet,  and 
not  a  beastly  bobbery  ?  No !  His  conscience  absolved  him  of  that. 
But  as  to  whether  he  had  felt  a  little  released  from  a  goblin 
mother-in-law — ^well!  it  would  give  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt; 
bring  in  the  verdict  not  proven.  He  was  rather  glad  to  get  on 
to  the  substance  of  the  explanation : — 

"I  have  nothing  to  conceal  about  the  circumstances  which  your 
letter  tells  me  was  the  provocation  to  all  this  cruelty  and  unkind- 
ness.  I  will  write  it  all  without  reserve,  for  I  know  I  am  safe  in 
your  hands,  but  I  do  not  say  allow  (Charles  erased)  Mr.  Heath  to 
read  it.  Still,  do  as  you  think  best!  I  say  this  because  I  do  not 
wish  him  to  reproach  himself,  and  he  cannot  but  do  so  when  he 
knows  the  innocent  cause  of  my  presence  in  the  Park  at  that  late 
hour!  I  will  tell  you  everything,  as  I  would  have  told  him — 
indeed  I  would — ^had  he  asked  me. 

"Our  great  trouble — I  mean  me  and  my  mother — is  my  poor 
father." — Charles  stopped  abruptly,  let  the  letter  fall  on  his  knees, 
while  he  stroked  his  beard.  His  mouth  thought  of  giving  a  whistle, 
but  decided  not  to. — "Why! — she  said  he  was  dead,"  said  he,  to 
empty  space.  However,  he  went  on  with  the  letter :  "He  is  of  un- 
sound mind,  and  we  have  to  live  apart  from  him.    But  he  follows 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  271 

us  about.  I  cannot  in  a  letter  tell  the  whole  story.  But  we  left 
Paris  through  him,  and  he  followed  us  to  London.  He  does  not 
know  where  we  are  living.  I  must  tell  you  he  does  not  seem  insane, 
but  it  is  impossible  for  my  mother  and  myself  to  live  with  him." 

Charles  paused,  considered  and  decided  that  it  was  excusable  to 
call  the  father  dead,  under  the  circumstances.  He  was  softening, 
but  this  did  not  make  him  suspect  himself.    He  read  on : — 

"On  that  evening  I  caught  sight  of  him  coming  from  a  coffee- 
shop  near  the  Chalk  Farm  Tavern.  I  did  not  know  he  had  come  to 
London,  but  I  knew  if  he  saw  me  he  would  follow  me  home.  He 
was  disputing  with  a  cabman  about  the  fare.  I  walked  away 
towards  Primrose  Hill,  and  when  I  reached  the  gate,  saw  he  was 
following.  I  went  as  quick  as  I  could  across  the  Hill  and.  got  to 
the  Park  gate  near  the  Gymnasium.  They  were  just  closing,  but 
I  got  through  and  I  thought  most  likely  he  would  not,  and  after 
running  a  little  more  I  walked  slower  to  recover  breath.  I  was 
afraid  to  go  towards  where  we  lived  for  fear  he  should  follow.  So 
I  went  the  other  way.  Half-across  I  saw  Mr.  Heath  in  front,  and 
did  not  want  to  overtake  him.  All  the  same  I  felt  safer,  seeing 
him"; — (Charles  softened  perceptibly  at  this  point) — "just  before 
we  reached  the  gate  I  heard  a  step  behind  and  then  saw  my  father 
had  got  through  and  was  still  following.  I  hung  a  little  back 
to  make  sure  Mr.  Heath  was  through  the  gate,  and  then  asked  the 
gate-keeper  to  send  the  man,  who  was  following,  the  wrong  way,  if 
he  should  ask  which  way  I  went.  He  was  good-natured  and  said 
yes.  All  this  while  your  brother  must  have  seen  me,  and  thought 
it  might  be  me.  But  he  was  in  the  shadow  and  I  thought  he  had 
gone  on.  When  I  got  home,  going  round,  I  was  glad — but  I  am 
afraid  now  that  any  time  my  father  may  find  out  where  we  are. 

"Dear  Miss  Heath,  if  you  feel  inclined  to  blame  me,  for  all  this 
plotting  and  scheming,  think  what  it  must  be  to  be  followed  by  a 
father  who  has  before  now  threatened  the  life  of  both  your  mothei* 
and  yourself.  Of  course  she  and  I  both  know  it  is  his  head  that 
is  affected — but  he  seems  so  sane  that  every  one  else  is  mis- 
led. .  .  ." 

"But  how  about  Exeter  Hall  ?"  said  Charles  to  himself.  He  went 
on  reading  the  letter,  which  dwelt  on  how  the  writer  had  all  but 
taken  him  into  her  confidence  next  day — how  she  reproached  her- 
self now  for  not  having  done  so.  But  only  let  Peggy  think  what 
is  meant  by  the  existence  of  insanity  in  any  family — what  the 
effects  of  its  publication  are!  Was  she  wrong  in  this  conceal- 
ment? Perhaps  she  was.  But  she  never  intended  to  prolong  it. 
And  then  things  had  followed  on  so  suddenly !    She  really  had  been 


372  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

taken  by  surprise.  But  the  fact  was,  that  had  it  not  been  for  her 
mother,  she  would  have  told  everything,  and  made  no  reserves. 
"But  how  about  Exeter  Hall?"  thought  Charles  again.  Was  that 
the  whole  of  the  letter  ?    No — here  was  a  postscript  overleaf. 

"P.  S. :  As  to  what  you  say  about  Exeter  Hall,  I  am  completely 
puzzled.  I  am  sure  that  Mr.  Heath  mistook  something  I  said. 
But  I  cannot  make  out  what.  I  waited  with  a  friend  at  the 
Egyptian  Hall  two  nights  before.  I  can  recollect  nothing  else  it 
could  have  been." 

That  was  all !  Charles  read  it  through  again,  and  yet  again.  Its 
first  effect  upon  him  was  to  increase  the  exasperation  he  felt  against 
the  attitude  of  his  family.  He  found  himself  resolving  that  he 
would  give  it  hot  to  that  young  monkey  Joan,  if  she  let  him  have 
any  more  of  her  nonsense.  He  chose  to  regard  this  resolve  as  in 
quite  another  department  of  his  mind,  and  having  no  connection 
with  the  letter.  Probably  it  was  the  thin  end  of  a  wedge,  which 
was  well  in  and  working  forward  by  the  time  he  re-enveloped  the 
letter,  and  was  at  liberty  to  pretend  he  was  not  going  to  allow 
himself  to  be  influenced  by  it.  It  was  a  wedge  that  went  con- 
tinually forwards,  never  slacked  back  in  the  least;  it  was  easy  to 
foresee  that  at  its  thick  end  Miss  Straker  would  be  acquitted.  But 
before  coming  to  that  point  it  stuck  once  or  twice — ^mainly  over 
Exeter  Hall.  Charles  began  the  series  of  reflections  that  ended 
in  a  sound  sleep  with  an  unalterable  certainty  that  it  was  Exeter 
Hall  and  last  night — not  the  Egyptian  Hall  and  the  night  before 
last.  The  certainty  was  relaxing  to  a  concession  that  it  must  have 
been  the  night  before  last,  and  he  must  have  been  mistaken,  when 
oblivion  ensued.  Next  morning  this  concession  was  recalled,  but 
with  a  feeling  that  some  protest  ought  to  have  been  made  as  a 
set-off.  So  he  decided  that  perhaps  it  was  the  Egyptian  Hall,  after 
all.    But  it  wasn't  the  night  before  last — oh  dear,  no ! 

It  is  so  easy  to  remember  any  number  if  you  can  only  remember 
not  to  recollect  any  other  numbers  at  the  same  time.  But  woe 
be  to  you  if  you  once  begin  to  speculate  about  whether  it  was  a 
two  or  a  three! 

Charles  had  got  himself  so  muddled  over  it  by  the  time  he  got 
down  to  breakfast,  and  found  Peggy  the  only  arrival,  that  he  feebly 
said  when  they  began  to  speak  about  it:  "Let  me  see!  Was  it 
Exeter  Hall  I  was  so  certain  it  was,  or  the  Egyptian  Hall?  Oh 
yes,  it  was  Exeter  Hall,  of  course."  And  he  really  felt  comforted 
when  Peggy  assured  him  this  was  the  case.  She  kept  back  a  con- 
viction that  Charley  was  being  unfair  to  Lavinia  on  the  strength 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  273 

of  a  very  shaky  memory;  and  she  didn't  say  ''Miss  Straker"  in 
her  mind,  foreseeing  that  she  might  turn  out  Lavinia  after  all! 
But  she  wasn't  going  to  say  anything  to  influence  him  one  way  or 
the  other — thought  she  wasn't,  anyhow !  Each  felt  that  the  past 
night  had  had  a  softening  effect,  and  that  now  what  they  had  to 
talk  about  was  not  so  much  whether  excuse  could  be  found  for 
Miss  Straker  as  how  they  could  make  amends  to  her  for  the  amount 
of  injustice  done,  whatever  it  was,  without  plunging  into  too  great 
an  extreme  of  reinstatement.  Peggy's  sense  of  justice  was  strug- 
gling against  the  dread  of  taking  the  responsibility  of  throwing  the 
lovers  into  one  another's  arms  again. 

"You  know,  Charley,"  said  she,  "I  do  feel  that  the  whole  busi- 
ness was  too  hasty — too  much  like  the  way  people  make  love  on  the 
stage." 

"Or  mistakes  off  it — isn't  that  what  you  mean,  Poggy-Wog?  In 
fact,  you  consider  your  brother  a  pig-headed  goose?" 

"That's  it,  dear !  You  put  it  beautifully.  You  see,  I  can't  help 
feeUng — (you  won't  be  angry,  dear,  if  I  say  it? — Promise!) — feel- 
ing glad  it's  all  over,  because  I  do  think  Lavinia  may  be  right,  and 
that  you  never  really — really — did  care  about  her.  At  least,  not 
as  much  as  you  thought."  She  is  getting  her  ship  into  all  sorts 
of  shoals  and  troubled  waters,  and  knows  it.  But  the  need  of  find- 
ing some  way  of  making  up  for  injustice  goads  her  on — "So  I 
can't  pretend  I  should  be  glad  for  your  sake  that  it  should  all  come 
on  again.  In  fact,  I  do  think,  Charley  dear,  that  you  and  Lavinia 
are  better  apart."  She  said  "Lavinia"  feeling  that  a  harshness 
might  be  safely  softened — it  was  a  mistake.  Besides,  the  idea  of 
being  asunder  is  fraught  with  the  idea  of  coming  together,  and  in 
our  opinion  Charles  was  not  in  a  state  of  mind  to  be  trusted  with 
it.  "All  the  same  it  seems  unkind — to — to  believe  we  were  mis- 
taken— don't    you    see? — and    not    to — ^to "      Peggy    felt    the 

waters  very  unsafe  indeed ;  wished  she  was  out  of  them.  She  had  to 
pretend  to  arrange  Charley's  beard  and  moustache  for  him,  in- 
stead of  finishing  the  sentence.    He  did  it  for  her. 

"And  not  to  go  and  tell  her  we  think  it's  all  explained  and 
we're  very  sorry  for  everything,  but  that  for  other  reasons — real 
good  ones  this  time — I  would  on  the  whole  rather  not  marry 
her." 

"Oh,  Charley  dear — ^how  can  you  be  so  nonsensical?" 

"How  would  you  put  it  then,  Peggy?"  But  Peggy  couldn't  telL 
Charles  cut  the  Gordian  Knot. 

"The  question  is  simply  whether  the  story  is  true.  If  it  were 
true.  Miss  Straker  would  be  to  me  all  she  was  before,  and  I  should 


274  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

be  thoroughly  ashamed  of  myself  for  my  hastiness,  and  should  go 
at  once  and  ask  her  to  forgive  and  take  me  back.    But  is  it  true  ?" 

Peggy  had  been  so  nearly  wrecked  before  that  she  took  refuge  in 
silence.  We  must  confess  to  being  unable  to  see  what  she  ought 
to  have  said.  She  felt  very  doubtful  if  it  wasn't  cowardly  to  leave 
Charles  to  think  she  thought  it  false,  and  might  have  found  some- 
thing to  say,  in  time,  but  an  eruption  of  fastbreakers  stopped  the 
colloquy. 

Alice,  in  the  natural  course  of  her  identification  with  the  family, 
had  become  an  established  incident  at  breakfast.  "The  boys"  had 
been  the  main  agents  in  bringing  this  about,  and  had  in  conse- 
quence become  very  unpopular  with  Mrs.  Partridge.  We  are  sorry 
to  say  that  Dan,  the  youngest,  had  denounced  that  old  retainer  as 
wanting  Alice  all  to  her  beastly  old  self.  This  was,  however,  in 
secret  communion  with  his  brother.  He  and  Ellen  took  the  place, 
in  the  Heath  family,  that  Nihilists,  Doukhobors,  Agnostics,  Turks, 
Heretics,  and  Infidels  generally  hold  in  the  Human  family.  Usu- 
ally the  espousal  of  any  cause  by  Jack  and  Ellen  was  enough  to 
ensure  its  condemnation  and  opposition  by  their  seniors.  But 
occasionally  a  case  occurred  that  was  ower  good  for  banning  and 
ower  bad — if  not  for  blessing — at  least  for  spontaneous  encourage- 
ment. Such  a  one  was  Jack  and  Ellen's  demand  that  Alice,  who 
had  merged  in  the  family  meals  in  Devonshire,  should  continue  to 
do  so  in  London,  so  far  as  breakfast  was  concerned  at  least.  Alice 
was  really  welcome  everywhere,  but  the  elders  felt  it  a  duty  to 
sustain  her  nondescript  position  somehow;  hence  she  may  be  said 
to  have  slowly  become  a  member  of  the  family  under  protest. 

On  the  occasion  in  hand,  Alice  was  among  the  earliest  of  the 
fastbreakers  at  Hyde  Park  Gardens.  All  were  rather  early  this 
morning,  as  Mr.  Heath  Senior,  having  shaved  (as  aforesaid)  over- 
night, meant  to  get  to  the  city  at  ten.  Hence  Peggy's  interview 
with  Charles  had  been  cut  short.  Let  us  try  to  hear  as  much  of 
the  conversation  as  we  can  through  the  rattle  of  knives  and  forks, 
and  mere  demands  for  more  milk,  less  milk,  one  more  lump,  and  so 
on,  that  drown  and  interrupt. 

"Of  course  you  may  have  scrunchy  toast  if  you  like,  Alice  dear. 
Why  isn't  Alice  to  have  scrunchy  toast,  Ellen?" 

"Because  little  girls  ought  to  be  consistent.  Alice  said  yester- 
day (No !  I'm  not  a  tyrant — any  more  than  everybody  else  is)  that 
she  liked  thick  toast,  light  brown  all  over,  and  now  she  wants  it 
thin  and  hard  and  the  black  scraped  off " 

"Of   courth   I   do!     Because   yethterday  was   Thurthday- 


.Thus  Alice,  implying  that  some  scheme  for  the  better  organisation 


ALICE-FOR-SHOKT  215 

of  life  has  to  be  observed.  Peggy  enquired,  "Why  thick  toast, 
slightly  browned,  on  Thursday?" 

"Because  Thurthday  is  a  thquashy  day,  like  Monday.  All  the 
others  are  scranchey  and  crickly,  except  Thaturday." 

"Now,  Peggy,  isn't  that  ridiculous?  As  if  Wednesday  wasn't  a 
lot  squashier  than  Monday."  But  this  view  of  Joan's  is  com- 
bated by  Charles,  who  takes  Alice's  part. 

"Alice  is  quite  right.  Thursday  and  Monday  are  soft  and 
squashy,  with  no  crust.  The  others  are  crusty;  only  Saturday  is 
doubtful.  She's  perfectly  right,  so  come  now,  Joan!"  But  Jump- 
ing Joan  is  not  a  young  person  who  can  be  contradicted  with 
impunity.    She  rounds  on  Charles  with  the  spring  of  a  panther. 

"I  should  like  to  know  what  Miss  Straker  would  say  to  that!" 
On  which  Miss  Petherington  says  with  a  chilling  hint  of  remote- 
ness from  the  conversation  in  her  tone,  "I  think,  Ellen,  you  had 
better  eat  your  breakfast."  And  Mrs.  Heath,  who  has  accrued,  and 
is  abounding  spaciously  behind  the  urn,  enquires  once  for  all, 
*'Ellen,  am  I,  or  am  I  not,  your  mother  ?" 

"Suppose  you  write  and  ask  Miss  Straker,  Joan?"  says  Charles 
himself,  good-humoured  and  unmoved.  He  is  really  fond  of  this 
demonstrative  little  sister  of  his,  and  usually  very  much  amused  at 
the  way  she  hits  out  all  round,  and  adjusts  the  universe :  "Because 
I  could  take  the  letter,  you  know."  Mrs.  Heath's  attention  is 
aroused. 

"I  think,  my  dear  Charles, — ^but  I  know  I  shall  be  set  aside, — ^I 
should  have  a  right  to  be  told  when  Miss  Straker  is  to  be  asked, 
and  what  she  is  to  be  asked  to.    But  do  not  consider  me!" 

"You  don't  understand.  Mamma  dear!  It's  not  an  invitation — 
let's  see,  what  was  it  she  was  to  be  asked?"  For  Peggy,  who  says 
this,  has  been  quite  bewildered  by  the  rapidities  of  the  conver- 
sation. Alice  cuts  in  with  a  real  desire  to  clear  up  obscurities,  and 
place  things  on  a  proper  footing. 

"Miss  Straker  is  to  be  athked  if  Thurthday  and  Monday  aren't 
squashy,  and  other  days  crusty " 

"All  but  Saturday,  doubtful!"  says  Charles.  And  Alice  repeats 
after  him,  "All  but  Thaturday,  doubtful!"  Her  eyes  gleam  with 
earnestness,  and  her  small  face  is  serious  without  trace  of  a  smile. 
The  company  feel  a  wish  to  kiss  her;  but  it's  breakfast,  so  they 
can't.  Mrs.  Heath  either  ignores  the  triviality,  or  does  not  see  the 
gist,  of  the  conversation,  and  says  freezingly,  "At  any  rate  we 
have  no  day  free  till  Wednesday.  And  I  beg  that  no  arrange- 
ments may  be  made  without  my  knowledge  and  sanction." 

"Mamma  dear — indeed  nobody's  making  any  arrangements — it's 


276  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

all  a  mistake!  Nobody'S)  being  asked  anywhere,  etc.,  etc."  This 
was  a  sort  of  joint-stock  remark,  joined  in  by  several.  Now  Mrs. 
Heath  was  not  so  unobservant  and  stupid  as  might  seem — for  con- 
currently with  this  discussion  there  had  been  another  among  the 
males,  rather  loud  and  absolutely  incomprehensible  to  bystanders. 
Here  is  a  chance  sample: — 

"It's  Slack's  business — not  mine.  You  must  write  at  once — 
the  moment  we  get  to  the  office." 

"What  am  I  to  say?     I  don't  even  know  if  it  was  her  own 


"It's  no  concern  of  ours,  anyhow!  If  it  had  been  properly 
packed,  it  would  have  been  eatable  enough.  What  could  possess 
Slack  to  shout  so  loud,  I  can't  imagine!"  .  .  .  And  so  on.  We 
merely  give  a  fragment.  As  this  and  much  more  cross-countered 
continually  with  the  dialogue  about  Alice's  squashy  days,  Mrs. 
Heath  had  good  excuse  for  misunderstanding.  But  she  had  none 
for  rejecting  all  explanations,  and  adhering  to  a  false  conception 
on  its  own  merits,  while  admitting  tacitly  that  it  had  no  founda- 
tion in  fact. 

"I  may  be  right,  or  I  may  be  wrong,  my  dear  Margaret.  I  am 
accustomed  to  be  corrected.  But  I  do  say,  and  I  will  say,  that  I 
ought  not  to  be  asked  to  receive  Miss  Straker.  The  Kemp-Brownes 
are  a  different  thing.  There  has  been  no  occurrence  there  of  any 
sort  or  kind."  Charles  has  been  getting  more  and  more  nettled  at 
the  semi-allusions  to  himself  and  Miss  Straker,  and  at  this  point 
the  worm  turns. 

"Am  I  asked  to  the  Kemp-Brownes',  Poggy-Woggy  ?"  says  he  in 
semi-sotto-voce  across  the  table. 

"Oh  yes,  Charley  dear,  you're  asked."  Peggy  looked  at  him 
apprehensively — ^nearly  asked  him  not  to  be  a  goose. 

"I  shall  go  to  the  Kemp-Brownes'!"  he  said;  "I  don't  see  any 
reason  why  I  shouldn't  go  to  the  Kemp-Brownes',  and  I  shall  go." 

This  resolution  had  a  certain  note  of  defiance  in  it.  The  Kemp- 
Brownes  were  very  musical  people,  and  a  Miss  Straker  evening  had 
been  pending  ever  since  this  family  had  heard  her  sing  at  Hyde 
Park  Gardens.  Of  course  Charles  might  go,  and  remain  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room — never  speak  to  the  singer,  or  even  listen  to 
her.  But  that  wasn't  his  meaning!  Yet  it  was  impossible  to  lay 
hold  of  a  mere  acceptance  of  an  invitation  to  a  friend's  house  be- 
cause a  young  lady  was  going  to  sing  there  about  whom  there  had 
been  an  occurrence  of  a  sort  or  kind.  An  uncomfortable  feeling  pre- 
vailed which  might  have  dispersed  naturally  if  the  talk  had  died 
down  naturally.    But  it  was  cut  off  short  by  the  other  end  of  the 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  277 

table  getting  overwhelmingly  loud.  Mr.  Heath's  temper  had  been 
ruffled  by  points  under  discussion  between  him  and  Archibald,  the 
eldest  son  in  the  business,  and  at  this  juncture  it  climaxed.  He 
went  the  length  of  striking  the  table  with  his  hand. 

"I  don't  care  what  McCormick  says !  He  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  matter.  I  should  say  the  same  if  he  was  the  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury.    As  for  Ekins,  he's  a  colossal  idiot !" 

"There  was  nobody  at  Kew  at  the  time,"  says  Archibald,  meekly 
and  apologetically;  and  the  outsiders  whose  attention  is  attracted 
by  the  vehemence  of  things,  feel  inclined  to  support  Archibald  and 
help  to  point  out  that  there  really  was  nobody  at  Kew,  without 
knowing  of  any  reason  why  there  should  have  been,  or  anything 
whatever  about  it. 

"I  shall  be  very  cautious  another  time,  and  so  I  tell  him  plainly," 
thus  Mr.  Heath,  with  a  gesticulating  forefinger,  "I  shall  be  very 
cautious  another  time  about  leaving  anything  whatever  in  the 
hands  of  Withers  &  Shanks.  I  don't  care  whether  it's  wool  or 
pettitoes.  You  may  tell  him  I  said  so.  No!  I  don't  want  any 
more  tea.  You  may  tell  him  I  said  so.  Is  the  cab  there,  Philli- 
more?" — Yes,  it  is;  and  off  goes  Mr.  Heath  fuming  against  some 
person  or  persons  unknown,  who  will  remain  unknown  to  us,  as 
they  do  not  come  into  this  history. 

Peggy  saw  that  the  circumstances  of  Charles's  rupture  with 
Miss  Straker  were  responsible  for  the  condemnation  her  family  had 
showered  upon  that  young  lady  without  waiting  for  a  full  and  true 
account;  that  this  very  condemnation,  half -heard  and  perhaps 
exaggerated  by  him,  had  stimulated  his  readiness  to  turn  round 
and  believe  himself  wrong;  and  that  any  word  she  said  might 
either  do  the  same  thing,  or  be  most  unfair  to  a  girl  who  appeared 
at  least  to  be  in  a  most  unfortunate  position.  If  it  had  been  to 
save  Charley  from  certain  unhappiness  she  might  hke  enough  have 
flung  all  other  considerations  aside — but  was  she  sure  it  would 
save  him?  Might  there  not  be  infinitely  worse  Miss  Strakers  in 
the  bush?  What  had  she  against  her,  personally,  but  a  slightly 
drawly,  theatrical  manner?  After  all  the  question  was,  would 
Charley  be  happy  with  her?  She  couldn't  say  yes — but  could  she 
say  no  ? 


CHAPTER  XXVn 

HOW  MISS  PRYNNE  HUNTED  FOR  MOSES.  HOW  CHARLES  WILL  BUY 
PHYLLIS  CARTWRIGHT.  JONAH  AND  ST.  MARGARET.  HOW  CHARLES 
WENT  FOR  A  WALK  IN  REGENTS  PARK.  AND  OVERHEARD  A  CONVER- 
SATION.    HOW  HE  FOUND  MISS  STRAKER  AT  HOME 

When  Charles  got  to  the  Studio  he  found  a  letter  from  Dr. 
Fludyer.  Cause  of  death  was  as  he  anticipated,  heart.  Chloroform 
contributory.  Business  instructions  were  given  in  Verrinder's  let- 
ter to  himself,  and  a  will  had  been  found  as  indicated  therein.  As 
soon  as  formalities  should  have  been  complied  with  the  pictures 
would  be  sent  to  auction.  Charles  said  to  himself  that  he  would 
go  to  the  sale  and  buy  Phyllis  Cartwright.  It  turned  out  that  it 
was  to  be  otherwise. 

For  when  he  came  to  think  over  the  events  of  the  last  three 
weeks,  it  became  more  and  more  manifest  to  him  that  the  situation 
between  himself  and  the  young  lady  had  been  mainly  of  his  own 
creating.  Of  what  value  were  plighted  troth,  vows  of  constancy, 
and  so  forth,  that  would  not  stand  the  strain  that  had  been  put 
upon  his  ?  It  had  all  hinged  -on  his  own  accuracy  of  recollection, 
and  if  he  had  really  loved  the  girl  surely  he  would  have  doubted  his 
own  hearing  rather  than  condemn  her  in  such  an  off-hand  way. 
And  then  how  unjust  his  family  had  been !  If  they  were  all  ready 
to  rejoice  over  his  manifest  devotion  to  Miss  Straker  coming  to  an 
abrupt  end,  would  it  not  have  been  kinder — more  straightforward, 
to  speak  plainly — not  to  give  such  an  uncertain  note  in  a  matter 
involving  so  much  to  all  ?  People  usually  expect  every  one  else  to 
cut  and  dry  their  conduct;  to  open  with  a  flip  and  shut  with  a 
click.  Charles  was  no  exception.  He  growled  to  himself  and 
nursed  a  sort  of  working  resentment  against  his  family,  to  be 
discarded  when  done  with.  He  could  not  consent  to  be  over- 
weighted by  the  opinions  of  people  who  could  be  so  unjust — for 
plainly  as  they  all  showed  their  condemnation  of  Miss  Straker,  they 
actually  did  not  know,  or  knew  very  imperfectly,  the  grounds  of 
his  secession.  He  could  fancy  Archibald  saying,  "So  Charley's 
thrown  that  young  woman  of  his  overboard.  Good  job,  too!"  and 
Robin  repeating  something  acquired  from  an  older  mouth,  such 

278 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  279 

as,  "Easy  enough  to  see  which  way  the  cat  would  jump,"  or,  "Are 
you  surprised?  I'm  not";  and  Joan  announcing  audibly  all  over 
the  house  that  Charley's  Lavinia  was  an  insidious  minx,  and  she 
didn't  care  if  Charley  did  hear  her  say  so. 

No !  It  was  altogether  weak  and  wrong  to  let  himself  be  swayed 
by  their  shallow  decisions ;  a  clear  abdication  of  his  own  individu- 
ality, a  renunciation  of  his  claims  to  manhood.  He  owed  it  to 
himself,  and  to  Lavinia  if  his  vows  were  worth  a  straw,  to  act  pre- 
cisely as  he  would  have  acted  if  there  had  been  nothing  to  consider 
but  their  two  selves.  Peggy  was  of  course  an  isolated  case,  always 
for  separate  consideration.  But  then  Peggy  would  admire  and 
excuse  any  action  of  his  that  was  based  on  a  shrinking  from  wrong, 
stimulated  by  a  generous  or  chivalrous  motive.  If  he  went  straight 
to  Lavinia  here  and  now,  for  forgiveness  and  recall,  he  knew  that 
Peggy  would  applaud  him  in  her  heart,  advienne  que  pourra! 

But  he  would  do  nothing  in  a  hurry !  To  soothe  himself  and  get 
in  a  calm  frame  of  mind,  he  would  have  a  good  look  at  Regan,  and 
see  if  she  was  really  dry.  If  he  ever  did  finish  Regan  (and  obvi- 
ously he  couldn't  do  that  without  Miss  Straker),  at  any  rate  she 
would  have  a  thorough  drying!  And  if  he  didn't,  at  any  rate  it 
was  no  fault  of  his !  An  inspection  of  Regan  glaring  apace  with  a 
chin  well  ahead  of  her  eyes,  and  clenching  two  well-balanced  fists, 
ended  in  a  decision  that  at  any  rate  it  was  too  late  to  do  any  work 
now.  This  phrase  had  recrudesced;  but  to  some  new  end,  not  yet 
determined.  As  no  work  was  possible,  the  next  best  thing  would 
be  to  pay  Jeff  a  visit  in  his  Studio.  He  hadn't  been  there  for 
ever  so  long. 

The  Miss  Prynnes'  door  was  half  open,  and  did  not  know 
whether  the  person  who  held  the  handle  inside  was  staying  in  or 
coming  out.  Whoever  it  was,  he  or  she  heard  Charles's  footstep 
and  inclined  to  staying  in.  He  passed  up  and  met  a  sound  of 
voices — Jeff's  and  the  younger  Miss  Prynne's.  The  former  testi- 
fied that  if  its  owner  saw  Moses,  he  would  bring  him  down  at  once. 
The  latter  that  it  would  be  sure  to  be  all  right.  Moses  was  always 
disappearing,  and  always  turning  up.  Further  that  tea  would  be 
five,  and  Jerry  was  to  be  sure  not  to  be  late.  Oh  no,  that  he 
wouldn't!  The  voices  seemed  to  mingle  with  alacrity  and  exhila- 
ration. Charles  paused  a  minute  on  the  stairs  with  a  sudden 
amused  look.  Some  idea  had  dawned  on  him.  "No!"  said  he  to 
himself,  "that  would  be  too  ridiculous!"  Only,  as  Miss  Dorothea 
passed  him  on  the  stairs,  with  the  smile  of  her  interview  still  on 
her  face,  and  a  good-morning  for  himself  that  borrowed  a  chance 
cordiality  from  it,  he  added,  internally,  "But  why  not  ?" 


280  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

"What  a  time  you  have  been !"  said  the  door-handle  holder.  And 
her  sister  replied,  "We  were  looking  for  Moses."  The  door  closed 
on  a  sense  of  a  slight  domestic  ruction. 

"Any  more  ghosts,  Je£F?" 

"No,  only  'untin'  for  the  cat." — ^Mr.  Jerrythought  also  had  a 
pleasant  twinlile  on  him,  and  a  slight  flush. — "Well,  I'm  biowed! 
there  he  is  all  the  time."  And  there  he  was  sure  enough,  cir- 
cling round  the  visitor's  calves.  It  was  as  nothing  to  Moses  to 
cease  to  exist  when  hunted  for,  and  to  re-materialise  when  con- 
venient. 

"Half  a  minute  till  I  take  him  down,  Charley!"  And  JefP  cap- 
tures Moses,  purring  like  a  forge  in  f uU  blast,  and  bears  him  away 
to  his  owner. 

"I  was  just  going  to  give  you  up  and  go,"  says  Charles,  some 
minutes  after — some  many  minutes — when  Jeff  reappears  apolo- 
getic. 

The  rescued  Terpsichore  had  an  easel  to  herself,  as  having  inter- 
esting qualities.  We  have  noticed  that  works  of  Art  that  are  being 
cared  for  and  cosseted  over,  soon  develop  qualities.  It  is  well 
known  that  new  things  seldom  have  any  qualities  whatever.  It  is 
a  puzzle  to  the  metaphysician,  but  presents  no  difficulties  to  the 
artist.  Terpsichore,  who  probably  was  painted  in  an  afternoon,  and 
then  looked  hanale,  and  crude,  and  commonplace,  and  meretricious, 
and  affected,  and  flat,  and  appealed  to  no  sympathies,  and  touched 
no  chord,  and  in  whose  composition  no  Treatment  was  visible,  and 
Values  entirely  disregarded — this  very  Terpsichore  now  that  she 
had  had  her  life  saved  at  such  expense,  and  been  provided  with  a 
gilt  frame  (only  the  gilt  was  kept  down  and  not  allowed  to  stare), 
had  become  endowed  with  qualities,  and  had  had  a  good  deal  of 
style  distinguished  in  her  by  a  sensitive  and  thoughtful  Omnis- 
cience— in  fact  the  Cultivated  Critic  himself  had  visited  Jeff's 
Studio  and  discerned  in  Terpsichore  an  interesting  example  of 
something  it  was  dutiful  to  be  interested  in.  Under  glass,  the  por- 
tions the  Destroyer's  hand  had  spared  suggested  the  beauty  of  the 
half-vanished  bits  he  had  had  a  good  scratch  at,  and  very  nearly 
abolished  before  the  Preserver  caught  him  at  it  and  chased  him 
away. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  her  ?"  Charles  asks. 

"Interestin'  memento !"  says  Jeff.  "Shan't  part  with  her.  Miss 
Dorothea  was  saying  the  frame  would  bear  puttin'  down  a  little 
more.    What  do  you  think  ?" 

"Was  that  when  you  were  looking  for  the  cat,  Jeff?" 

"You  go  along,  Charley !    You're  always  poking  your  fun !    No — 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  281 

Miss  Dorotliea  really  is  a  very  sensible  person  I  Ain't  it  time  fc«r 
lunch  ?" 

It  isn't,  just  yet.  But  it  will  be.  In  the  meantime  we  can 
converse  a  good  deal  about  Verrinder's  death ;  about  the  old  jug  this 
story  began  with;  even  about  each  other's  work,  which  we  regard 
with  lukewarm  interest,  each  preferring  to  stimulate  the  other  into 
talk  about  his  own,  under  pretence  of  advice  he  doesn't  mean  to 
take.  But  when  Charles  came  to  look  back  on  this  conversation, 
it  certainly  struck  him  that  Miss  Dorothea  figured  in  it  very  often 
as  an  extremely  sensible  person,  and  wondered  whether  anything 
would  come  of  it. 

Mrs.  Farwig,  on  the  stairs,  suspected  Charles  of  having  been  un- 
derfed lately.  She  had  noticed  it  these  three  days,  and  mentioned 
it  to  her  husband.  She  referred  several  times  to  this  last  fact;  and 
not  only  had  she  said  to  Farwig  that  Mr.  'Eath  hadn't  been  look- 
ing himself  this  long  time  past,  and  what  he  wanted  was  keeping 
up,  but  she  had  dwelt  upon  the  same  theme  to  our  old  acquaintance 
Mrs.  Twills,  whose  memory  clung  about  No.  40,  even  as  Petrarch's 
about  Vaucluse,  or  Dante's  about  Florence.  Mrs.  Farwig  seemed 
to  adduce  the  number  of  times  she  had  mentioned  any  circumstance 
as  cumulative  evidence  of  its  primary  certainty.  As  she  had  stood 
her  pails  on  the  stairs,  durin'  cleanin',  and  she  herself  had  stood 
between  her  pails,  Charles  and  Jeff  could  not  avoid  a  longish  collo- 
quy, a  good  deal  of  which  was  foreign  matter,  and  reviewed  the 
difficulties  of  bringing  up  a  young  family  on  an  uncertain  income. 
However,  the  pails  were  removed  in  time,  and  Mrs.  Farwig  made  a 
bad  finish,  oratorically,  with  the  words,  "Ah,  well — as  I  say !"  And 
then  Charles  and  Jeff  got  downstairs. 

But  they  did  not  get  away  to  lunch.  For  Mr.  Bauerstein,  the 
dealer,  intercepted  them,  and  drew  them  into  his  room  to  see  a 
Morland.  Charles  evaded  giving  an  opinion  about  it  by  saying  he 
thought  !Morland  such  a  verj'  equal  artist.  Being  applauded  for 
this  he  rashly  ventured  further  on  the  same  lines,  and  said  he 
thought  Reynolds  an  example  of  an  unequal  artist.  But  the  opin- 
ion of  Europe  was  evidently  against  him.  He  retired  ashamed. 
Then  they  decided  they  really  must  get  away,  or  they  wouldn't 
get  lunch  till  dinner-time.  They  might  have  done  so,  had  Charles 
not  recollected  as  he  was  leaving  the  house  that  there  was  some- 
thing he  wanted  to  say  to  Bauerstein.  It  related  to  the  sale  of 
Verrinder's  pictures,  and  a  short  conference  ended  up  thus: — 

"Then  you'll  bid  for  it  for  me,  up  to  fifteen  pounds  ?  I  can't  well 
go  beyond  that." 

Yes — Mr,   Bauerstein   woixld   tmdertake   the   ooinmission.     Ha 


282  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

vrould  bid  tip  to  fifteen  pounds  for  Charles.  If  he  bid  higher  it 
would  be  his  own  purchase.  What  did  Charles  say  the  name 
was?  "Villis  Gardride"? — Charles  wrote  it  down  for  him,  with  all 
other  needful  particulars.  But  this  delay  just  made  the  departure 
for  Cremoncini's  overlap  with  that  of  Pope  and  Chappell,  who  were 
loquacious  in  the  passage  as  Charles  came  forth  to  rejoin  Jeff. 
Pope's  vulgar  tongue  was  audible  as  he  left  the  old  ballroom  by 
the  door  his  and  Jeff's  private  ghost,  as  they  called  her,  had 
•come  out  at. 

"Expectin'  a  beggar  to  know  about  Transubstarntiation !  A 
Protestant  beggar !     And  him  a  Dean !" 

"What  did  you  say  to  him,  Mr.  Pope?"  Thus  Chappell,  who  is 
always  a  little  uneasy  about  what  may  happen  when  the  Firm's 
<iivinity  is  gauged  by  experts  in  his  absence. 

"Said  the  religious  pardner  was  takin'  a  morsel  of  bread  and 
cheese  and  a  glass  o'  sherry,  but  he'd  be  round  in  five  minutes." 

"No — you  didn't  say  that,  Mr.  Pope,  I  do  hope  ?"  Mr.  Chappell 
is  alarmed,  but  advantage  is  only  being  taken  of  his  being  matter- 
of-fact.  Had  he  been  on  the  other  side  of  the  passage,  he  would 
have  seen  that  Mr.  Pope  had  closed  one  eye,  for  the  benefit  of  him- 
self and  Mr.  Jerrythought. 

"Not  in  those  terms,  pardner !  But  in  the  spirit  of  the  remark. 
My  pardner  always  says  'refer  him  to  me'  he  says.  So  I  'and  'em 
all  over  to  'im — Deans,  Minor  Canons,  Vicars,  and  Curates.  Bish- 
ops and  Archbishops  come  by  appointment  and  he  sees  'em  him- 
self."   This  explanation  he  addresses  to  Jeff. 

"What  did  you  say  this  time  though,  Mr.  Pope  ?"  Chappell  seems 
uneasy,  and  would  rather  know. 

"Said  I  would  sooner  he  should  talk  to  you  about  it.  Said  my 
own  views  were  those  of  the  religious  public,  without  distinction 
of  creed  or  sex " 

"No— you  didn't  say  that,  I  hope?" 

"Somethin'  to  that  effect.  It  sounded  all  right.  Anyhow,  he's 
goin'  to  send  the  templates,  and  he'll  run  to  three  pun'  a  foot  for 
figure-work,  and  ten  shillins  for  grisaille.  And  when  he  comes 
again,  you'll  'ave  to  talk  to  him  about  Transubstarntiation.  So 
look  out  for  squalls." 

Charles  had  come  into  touch  in  the  middle  of  this  dialogue. 
Seeing  him  suggested  a  new  topic  to  Mr.  Chappell.  "That  was  Mr. 
Heath's  sketch  of  Jonah  and  St.  Margaret  he  liked,  wasn't  it, 
Mr.  Pope?"— 

"Ah,  to  be  sure,  Mr.  Heath !  He  was  very  much  took  with  your 
sketch.    I  pointed  out  to  him  the  propriety  of  the  treatment " 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  283 

"There's  a  stone  mullion  between  them,  anyhow,"  said  Charles. 

"Not  from  that  point  of  view,  I  don't  mean.  I  was  referrin'  to 
the  leadin'  incidents  in  their  lives.  One  got  swallered  by  a  whale — • 
the  other  by  a  dragon — a  feller  feelin'  they'd  have!  *A  pretty 
idea,'  I  said,  'standin'  of  'em  side  by  side.'  He  agreed,  the  Dean 
did.  Anyhow,  you'll  have  to  drore  'em  out  to  scale,  and  I'll  lend 
you  a  hand  over  the  lead-lines." 

Charles  cordially  thanked  Mr.  Pope.  It  gave  him  quite  a  sense 
of  pleasure  that  he  should  really  do  something,  however  small,  that 
should  bear  fruit  as  professional.  He  felt  not  a  little  ashamed  of 
his  superior  tone  about  Pope  &  Chappell  when  he  first  made  their 
acquaintance  through  Jeff.  To  whom  he  apologised  as  they  walked 
away  to  lunch  together;  he  couldn't  well  do  so  to  Pope  himself, 
although  he  was  longing  to  make  amends  for  his  churlishness. 

So  long  as  he  was  in  contact  with  the  varied  little  world  that  had 
drifted  into  No.  40 ;  so  long  as  he  was  sitting  with  Jeff  at  Cremon- 
cini's,  chaffing  the  waiter,  who  was  a  Genoese,  and  endeavouring  to 
reconcile  the  Italian  of  the  latter  with  some  slight  experience  he 
had  of  the  Purgatorio;  so  long  as  he  was  walking  back  with  his 
companion  through  the  pea-soup  that  flooded  the  street,  in  a  singu- 
lar fit  of  post-mortem  summer  that  had  come  off  the  Atlantic  with 
a  gust  of  southwest  wind  and  blown  the  early  frosts  away,  and 
was  making  folk  anticipate  green  yules  and  full  kirk-yards — 
80  long  as  these  things  were,  and  he  had  distraction,  he  was  in  no 
danger  of  doing  anything  in  a  hurry;  not  if  the  situation  was  of  his 
own  creating,  ever  so ! 

But  when  Jeff  had  gone  away  to  his  five-o'clock  appointment  to 
tea  with  the  sensible  Miss  Dorothea  and  her  indisputably  scraggy 
sister;  when  he  had  declined  to  accompany  him  in  response  to  an 
invitation  he  seemed  to  have  no  hesitation  in  giving,  and  was  left 
alone,  as  he  alleged,  to  write  letters  because  it  was  too  dark  to  work ; 
when  he  had  filled  out  half-an-hour  with  a  pipe  of  the  celebrated 
Latakia,  and  had  remarked  to  himself  that  Jeff's  acquaintance  with 
Miss  Dorothea  seemed  going  ahead  at  a  great  pace — and  he  never 
reflected  on  the  great  pace  at  which  another  acquaintance  had 
gone  ahead  recently ;  when  he  had  done  all  these  things,  and  found 
no  more  to  do,  and  really  had  no  letters  to  write — ^how  often  one 
says  one  has,  when  one  hasn't! — why,  then  he  was  very  distinctly 
in  danger  of  doing  something  in  a  hurry ;  only  he  didn't  know  it  I 
He  fancied  he  had  got  a  really  good  opportunity  for  reviewing  the 
position  with  the  extremest  deliberation,  and  went  out  for  a  walk 
through  the  pea-soupy  streets  in  the  wind  that  smelt  of  the  sea, 
and  watched  the  scavengers  scavenging  (we  presume)  the  soup 


884  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

with  wide  toothless  rakes,  and  spooning  it  into  tureens  on  wheels; 
which  being  put  in  motion  spilled  most  of  it,  and  carried  away  the 
remainder  to  some  destination  known  only  to  the  Parish. 

Obviously  the  proper  way  of  not  doing  anything  in  a  hurry  would 
have  been  to  go  for  a  walk  in  Hyde  Park  and  Kensington  Gar- 
dens, and  then  go  home  to  dinner  and  have  a  good  long  talk  with 
Peggy — who  could  say  that  she  hadn't  been  to  see  Miss  Straker? 
It  would  have  been  much  wiser  in  him  to  do  so,  instead  of  what 
he  did. 

He  did  start  towards  Hyde  Park.  But  when  he  got  to  Langham 
Place  he  turned  to  the  right.  He  would  walk  up  to  the  end  of  Port- 
land Place,  through  Park  Crescent,  and  go  to  "the  Gardens"  along 
the  Marylebone  Road.  He  called  somebody,  or  something — he 
wasn't  clear  which — to  witness  that  he  wasn't  thinking  of  going 
near  Regents  Park;  still  less  Camden  Town. 

But  when  he  got  to  Park  Square  he  reflected  that  he  really 
wanted  a  bit  of  a  walk,  and  it  was  so  nice  and  airy  across  Regents 
Park  in  this  unseasonable  delight  of  a  balmy  wind,  and  then  round 
by  the  outer  circle  and  St.  John's  Wood,  and  Maida  Vale.  A  cap- 
ital walk,  and  long  enough!  Of  course  he  would  be  within  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  of  Warren  Street. 

His  mind  turned  resentfully  on  the  passing  imp  that  had  mur- 
mured this  in  his  ear.  What  sort  of  weak  character  did  that  imp 
take  him  for?  Could  he  not  trust  himself  within  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  of  this  girl?  Aye,  that  he  could!  He  could  trust  himself 
to  take  no  rash  step  unintentionally.  As  to  what  he  should  or 
should  not  do  as  the  result  of  matured  intention — why,  the  inten- 
tion wasn't  mature  yet!  If  he  were  to  mature  such  an  intention 
between,  for  instance,  the  corner  of  Park  Square  and  the  Zoological 
Gardens,  he  wasn't  going  to  be  intimidated  by  the  opinion  of  an 
insignificant  imp  like  that!  Let  him  and  his  fellows  scoff  at  his 
headstrongness,  rashness,  vacillation,  inconsistency— what  did  he 
care?  If  he  really  only  felt  convinced  that  Miss  Straker's  story 
of  her  father  was  substantially  true,  he  would  go  and  sue  for  for- 
giveness at  once.  Why  did  he  doubt  its  truth?  It  was  only  that 
Exeter  Hall  recollection — and  see  how  hazy  he  had  been  about 
that  I 

Then  he  became  conscious  of  what  Peggy  would  have  said  to  him 
at  once  had  she  seen  him  now:  "You  foolish 'boy!  Can't  you  see 
you  are  thinking  all  this  because  you  are  hankering  after  Warren 
Street,  and  the  nearer  you  get  the  more  you  will  think  it."  He 
acknowledged  the  shadowy  Peggy's  insight ;  pulled  himself  together 
(''ad  crossed  the  Park  resolutely.    He  felt  Spartan,  and  sat  down 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  286 

on  a  seat,  near  the  Primrose  Hill  entrance  he  knew  so  well,  to  rest 
after  such  a  moral  effort. 

His  ear  was  caught  by  conversation  in  French  not  very  far  off. 
Words  not  familiar  to  him  he  could  not  catch,  but  easy  phrases 
and  repetitions  he  made  out  clearly  enough.  The  voice  that  spoke 
first  was  a  young  man's. 

"Elle  est  malade  .  .  •  elle  n'a  pas  pu  venir  .  .  ." 

"Ce  sont  des  mensonges,  et  tu  es  menteur,  mon  fils  .  ,  .  elle  ne 
I'a  pas  voulu  .  .  ." 

"Ne  suffit-il  pas  qu'elle  vous  a  envoye  cet  argent?  .  .  .  pourquoi 
la  fatiguer  ainsi?  .  .  ." 

" Je  ne  veux  pas  la  fatiguer,  moi !  .  .  .  Ecoute  toi !  Je  t'attends 
une  demi-heure!  .  .  ." 

The  two  voices  then  fell  and  Charles  heard  no  more  until  they 
assumed  the  winding-up  tone,  which  always  brings  louder  speech. 
The  elder  man  became  audible  first — and  that  of  the  younger  re- 
mained inaudible,  being  always  pitched  in  a  lower  key. 

"Alors  nous  sommes  d'accord !  Tu  viens  ici  me  porter  de  I'argent 
— et  moi  je  t'attends  samedi — a  cette  heure.  .  .  .  Non!  Non!  Ma 
foi — ^je  I'entreprends !  Elle  pent  se  fier  de  moi.  .  .  .  Mais  mon 
adresse?  Pourquoi  veut-elle  connaitre  mon  adresse?  .  .  .  Eaut 
ecrire  au  Cafe  au  dela  .  .  .  comme  avant." 

The  young  man  then  walked  away  westward.  The  other  called 
after  him,  "Maurice !"  and  then  seemed  to  change  his  mind,  adding, 
"Non — non — ce  n'est  rien!  Va-t-en!"  Then  he  turned  to  go  in 
the  opposite  direction,  and  Charles  saw  he  would  pass  near  him. 
There  was  a  gas-lamp  close  by,  and  as  he  passed,  stowing  away  in 
his  purse  the  money  he  had  received,  Charles  saw  him  plainly.  An 
appearance  at  once  clerical  and  dissolute  was  too  distinctive  to  be 
mistaken.  There  was  no  doubt  whatever  about  it.  He  was  the 
man  that  had  followed  Miss  Straker,  and  been  misdirected.  .  .  . 

Charles's  resolution  was  taken.  He  walked  straight  to  the  house 
in  Warren  Street.  As  he  crossed  the  road  towards  the  house,  he 
thought  he  saw  Lavinia  just  retiring  from  the  window;  and,  a 
moment  after,  came  a  chord  on  the  piano.  If  Charles  was  at  this 
time  guilty  of  any  self-deception,  it  was  in  forcing  his  mind  a  little 
to  the  belief  that  she  had  not  seen  him  approaching. 

Was  Miss  Straker  at  home?  The  sloven  he  asked  the  question 
of  seemed  ambiguous,  so  he  asked  it  in  another  form:  "Shall  I  find 
her  in  the  drawing-room  ?"    The  sloven  replied,  vacuously :  "If  you 

was  to  go  up  and  see "     He  heard  her  singing  above  at  the 

piano.    He  left  the  sloven  as  a  hopeless  case,  and  went  upstairs. 

Just  as  he  opened  the  door,  after  knocking  slightly,  he  heard 


286  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

the  instrument  closed  noisily.  The  soupd  must  have  drowned  his 
knock,  as  no  answer  came.  He  looked  in  without  speaking.  The 
^rl  was  leaning  forward  over  the  piano-lid,  her  face  in  her  hands. 
He  spoke  to  her  by  name,  and  she  looked  up, 

"Why  have  you  come  ?"  said  she,  almost  with  asperity. 

"I  have  come,"  he  replied,  "to  ask  your  forgiveness.  Will  you 
iorgive  me?" 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


ET  NOS  MUTAMUR  IN  ILUS 


It  was  a  fine  morning  in  May.  The  inhabitants  of  Soho  were 
feeling  cheerful  from  the  first  outburst  of  real  sunshine  the  year 
had  granted  them.  The  streets,  if  not  quite  dry  after  a  long  sea- 
son of  continuous  rain,  were  going  to  be  dry  soon ;  and  the  new  char- 
woman who  was  cleaning  the  front-door  steps  at  No.  40,  seemed 
sanguine  of  a  permanent  result.  There  were  almost  as  many  two- 
horse  carriages  with  coronets  on  them  as  omnibuses  in  Regent 
Street,  and  cabs  were  scarcely  being  allowed  time  to  disgorge  their 
plebeians,  by  the  impatience  of  fresh  plebeians  to  take  their  places. 
County  families  in  full  vigour  had  cleaned  their  windows  and  put 
scarlet  geraniums  in  their  balconies  and  incited  myrmidons  to  be 
ready  with  rolls  of  carpet  to  shield  the  feet  of  arrivals  from  the 
cold  inhospitable  paving-stone.  But  we  must  not  be  led  away  to 
Berkeley  Square;  our  proper  place  is  at  the  old  Soho  house,  known 
to  us  only  by  its  number  in  the  street,  where  on  this  May  morning 
the  new  char  was  cleaning  down  the  steps,  and  a  **harmonieflute" 
barrel  organ  was  playing  'Ernani  involami'  several  times  over. 

She  was  a  new  char;  there  was  no  doubt  of  that — ^but  as  is  the 
race  of  leaves,  so  is  the  race  of  chars,  and  their  employers  are 
always  turning  over  a  new  leaf.  Mrs.  Earwig  no  longer  did  down 
the  steps  and  did  out  the  house,  but  the  hieroglyphic  of  Pope  & 
Chappell  was  bright  upon  the  door-post,  and  the  two  human  crea- 
tures it  vouched  for  were,  as  usual,  at  work  in  what  had  been  the 
front  parlour;  combining  the  painting  of  glass  against  the  light, 
and  the  provision  for  more  to  come,  with  the  reception  of  visitors 
anxious  that  somebody  else  should  not  be  forgotten,  and  that  they 
themselves  should  be  borne  in  mind  as  his  commemorators. 

"I'm  speculatin',"  thus  Mr.  Pope  to  Mr.  Chappell,  and  then 
pauses  a  few  seconds  to  concentrate  on  a  stipple,  "I'm  speculatin' 
we  shall  hear  of  a  wedding."  Mr.  Chappell  says  simply  and 
briefly,  "Who?" 

Mr.  Pope  appears  to  pause  and  consider  among  possible  couples ; 
and  finally  asks,  as  one  who  believes  he  has  struck  oil,  but  would 
like  belief  strengthened:  "What  do  you  say  to  our  first-floor?" 

287 


288  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

"What  made  you  think  of  Mr.  Heath?" 

"Why — ^your  grumblin'  at  having  to  'unt  up  his  St.  Margaret's 
leads." 

"Well,  Mr.  Pope,  I'd  a  right  to  grumble.  I've  had  to  trace  them 
all  over  again,  anyhow.  But  I  don't  mean,  what  made  you  think 
of  him,  himself — what  made  you  think  he  was  going  to  be  married  ? 
/  never  heard  he  was." 

•  "Only  a  sort  of  speculative  idear  of  mine,  partner,"  said  Pope. 
"No  man  less  likely,  I  should  say,  if  you  was  to  ask  me — ^I  threw 
out  the  idear " 

"Somebody  must  have  said  something  about  it— else  how  on 
earth  should  you  come  to  think  it?" 

"I  didn't  think  it — a  mere  floatin'  idear ! — only  'ang  me  if  I  can 
see  why  our  first-floor  shouldn't  get  married  as  much  as  any  on© 
else's " 

"Of  course  not — I  never  said  he  shouldn't,  anyhow." 

"You  never  said  he  shouldn't,  partner,  I  grant  you !  But,  to  my 
thinkin',  you  took  up  the  gauntlet " 

"No — I  didn't.  I  didn't  say  as  much  as  you  did.  You  said  no 
man  was  less  likely.    Why  did  you  say  that  ?" 

"Well !  because  I  thought  it.  Look  at  the  thing  all  round."  But 
Mr.  Pope  and  Mr.  Chappell  didn't  look  at  it  all  round,  for  the 
office-bell  jangled,  and  an  Architect  came  in  to  find  as  much  fault 
as  he  could,  and  to  denounce  ten  clerestory  windows  for  want  of 
repose,  and  only  allow  a  little  grudging  praise  to  the  "Jonah" 
Pope  was  at  work  on,  on  the  score  of  the  breadth  of  treatment  of 
the  whale.  .  .  . 

While  this  goes  on,  let  us — as  is  our  prerogative — look  round  at 
the  office,  and  see  what  the  changes  have  been  since  we  were  here 
last.  For  a  feeling  is  on  us  that  changes  have  taken  place,  though 
we  cannot  say  off-hand  what  they  are.  Let  us  look  at  them  in 
detail. 

We  cannot  recall  every  drawing  of  a  window  that  hung  upon  the 
walls  on  our  previous  visit,  but  surely— surely — that  great  seven- 
light  perpendicular  window  over  the  chimney-piece  was  not  there 
then?  What  a  piece  of  work  to  have  done  in  the  time!  And  all 
this  swarm  of  major  and  minor  Prophets,  Apostles,  Archangels, 
Nativities  and  Flights  into  Egypt,  Good  Samaritans  and  Unjust 
Stewards,  fitted  into  every  possible  type  of  window  tracery,  Nor- 
man, Decorated,  Early  English,  late  Tudor,  even  Inigo  Jones  and 
Christopher  Wren — surely  the  walls  were  not  then  all  but  hidden 
behind  these? 

Well!  look  a  bit  closer — look  at  Mr.  Pope  and  Mr.  Chappell,  as 


ALICE-FOK-SHOKT  289 

they  stand  there  agreeing  with  everything  the  F.  R.  I.  B.  A.  says, 
with  a  view  to  complying  with  none  of  it  in  practice.  When  we 
saw  him.  first,  Pope's  hair  was  black,  iron-grey  at  most,  with  a 
tendency  to  whiten  towards  the  whisker.  Now  it  is  most  strangely 
silvered  over — and  though  Chappell  seemed  then  to  mean  to  be  bald, 
there  was  nothing  about  his  resx)eetable  head  that  suggested  an 
onion  or  an  egg.  Now  his  head  is  more  than  resi)ectable — it  is 
venerable — a  head  most  propititious  to  an  ecclesiastical  business; 
and  both  of  them  have  a  certain  family  effect  and  give  an 
impression  of  suburban  residences,  fraught  with  daughters  and 
croquet  lawns.  And  what  is  the  speech  we  catch  from  the  good- 
looking  young  man  of  twenty-odd  who  eomes  in  with  a  drawing, 
and  hands  it  to  Mr.  Pope:  "Is  it  this  one,  father?"  And  the  reply 
is :  "That's  it,  Kit ;  put  it  on  the  table." 

Wliy,  surely  now — that  time  that  Charles  Heath  came  first  into 
their  ofiice  with  Jeff,  to  make  the  Firm's  acquaintance — surely 
Pope  spoke  then  of  a  child  of  four,  who  also  was  Kit,  and  who 
asked  embarrassing  questions  about  religious  Art.  You  must 
recollect  that?  What  does  it  all  mean?  What  is  the  meaning  of 
Pope's  grey  head  and  Chappell's  bald  crown,  of  the  signs  of  work 
and  prosperity  on  the  walls,  of  the  venerable  employee  addressed 
as  Buttifant  who  brings  in  window-lights  to  show,  of  the  many 
footsteps  that  come  trooping  down  the  stairs  outside  and  make 
Chappell  say  that's  the  chaps  going,  and  it  must  be  twelve-thirty  ? 

What  indeed?  It  means  that  sixteen  years  have  passed,  not 
sixteen  weeks  (as,  for  all  the  story  has  told  yet,  it  might  have 
been),  since  Alice  broke  the  jug  and  Charles  shielded  her  and 
brought  her  home,  a  small  forlorn  midget,  to  his  father's  house; 
since  she  stood  by  her  mother's  deathbed  at  the  Hospital,  and  heard 
her  speak,  that  one  time  only,  in  the  voice  that,  but  for  drink, 
would  have  been  her  own ;  since  she  saw  the  memorable  ghost  upon 
the  stairs. — 

But  the  story  knows  nothing  yet  of  what  has  come  to  pass  in  all 
those  sixteen  years.  It  comes,  as  Rip  Van  Winkle  came,  to  note 
the  signs  and  memories  of  many  changes  that  have  been  wrought 
in  the  absence  of  its  chroniclers.  It  knows  nothing  yet,  but  that 
Charles  is  an  unmarried  man,  and  still  a  tenant  of  the  first-floor 
Studio  at  No.  40.  Let  it — or  let  us,  if  you  prefer  it  so — go  up 
and  look  at  him. 

We  wonder,  as  we  go,  who  else  remains  in  the  house  of  those  we 
knew.  Some  one  has  gone  away — else  where  are  all  "the  chaps"  at 
work  about  whose  footsteps  Chappell  saw  it  was  twelve-thirty? 
Either  Jeff  or  the  ]Vtisses  Prynne  have  given  up  their  tenancy. 


290  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

Judging  by  the  sound  of  those  feet  we  should  say  both.  There  must 
be  a  dozen  painters  or  more  at  work  upstairs — orders  for  large 
east-windows,  and  whole  clerestories  in  a  lump,  are  not  done 
single-handed ! 

On  the  stairs  we  pass  a  bearded  man — a  man  in  early  middle 
life,  whose  face  gives,  or  leaves,  the  impression  that  he  is  really 
younger  than  he  looks.  It  is  sad  and  careworn,  but  handsome  and 
thoughtful  and  attractive,  and  we  should  stop  to  look  at  him  if  we 
were  not  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  to  our  old  friend  Charley.  Will 
he  be  much  changed — changed  out  of  all  knowledge — in  these 
sixteen  long  years? 

We  cannot  see  him  now,  for  his  door  is  shut  and  locked  and  he 
is  gone  away  till  two.  A  notice  on  a  slate  on  the  door  says  he  will 
be  back  then;  so  we  turn  to  go,  disappointed.  And  then  as  we  go 
down,  it  dawns  upon  us  that  that  was  he — that  man  we  passed  upon 
the  stairs.  Of  course  it  was!  Think  of  the  spectacles  and  all! 
We  should  have  recognised  him. 

But  it  may  be  we  recoiled  unconsciously  from  doing  so,  and 
could  not  bear  to  think  that  he  should  look  so  sad  at  heart.  Were 
we  not,  perhaps,  shutting  our  eyes  to  his  identity,  and  hoping  to 
see  again  the  young  bright  artist  we  left  here,  sixteen  years 
ago?  .  .  . 

When  the  F.  E.  I.  B.  A.  heard  it  was  twelve-thirty,  he  recollected 
that  he  had  an  appointment  at  that  time,  and  fled  in  a  cab.  Pope 
and  Chappell  and  Kit,  the  son  of  the  former,  who  had  come  in  from 
upstairs  to  join  his  father  at  lunch,  passed  the  time  in  discursive 
chat.  They  did  not  leave  till  one — so  there  was  a  cool  twenty 
minutes.    Pope  resumed  the  previous  conversation. 

"Bad  job  it  was,  that  marriage  of  his !  Don't  you  go  making  a 
runaway  match  with  a  ramshandry  sort  o'  half-French  girl,  with- 
out your  father's  consent,  Kit,  or  I'll  disinherit  you." 

"Did  old  Mr.  Heath  disinherit  him?"  asked  Kit. 

"Not  he! — Easy-goin'  old  cock!  No — I  believe  he  allowed  'em 
two  or  three  hundred  a  year — and  Charles  Heath  had  a  trifle  of  his 
own — ^with  the  cartoons  he  did  for  us  they  made  up  to  seven  or 
eight  'undred.  But  Lard !  if  it  had  been  seven  or  eight  thousand 
she'd  have  walked  into  it." 

"What  was  her  name,  Father?" 

"Scraper,"  replies  Pope  with  confidence;  but  is  corrected  by 
Chappell,  and  Kit  evidently  says  to  himself,  "I  thought  so."  The 
speaker  continues :  "I  don't  thinlv  the  old  boy  forgave  him  for  some 
time.    They  didn't  get  the  three  hundred  at  first — and  they  must 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  291 

have  had  a  rough  time  of  it.  Children  coining,  and  his  painting 
large  pictures  nobody  bought." — 

"Can't  say  I  wonder,"  says  Pope;  "I  wouldn't  have  'em  at  a 
gift.  But  he's  a  nice  feller!  Amoozin'  way  he  has  of  puttin' 
things,  too !    How  many  kids ?    Two?" 

"Two,  I  fancy.  First  a  girl  and  then  a  boy,  like  the  children's 
game.    The  girl  died." 

"How  did  he  come  to  make  it  up  with  his  father  ?"  Kit,  who  asks, 
is  yoimg  and  penetrating,  and  wishes  to  go  to  the  root  of  all  sub- 
jects.    Mr.  Pope  can't  throw  much  light. 

"What  was  it  Jeff  said,  Mr.  Chappell?" — He  passes  the  ques- 
tion on,  and  Chappell  is  little  better,  but  can  record  that  the  recon- 
ciliation was  brought  about  "by  Lady  Thingumbob,  the  wife  of 
Sir  What's-his-name — ^you  know,  the  great  physician — ^married 
Miss  Heath — great  beauty  she  was — ^you  recollect  ?" 

"Sir  Rupert  Johnson,  I  know.  He's  a  tremendous  swell  now. 
What's  his  gag,  Kit  ?  You  know  about  things.  Is  it  stummick — or 
oviariotomy — or  softenin'  on  the  brain?"  Kit  seems  a  very  well- 
informed  boy — ^has  quite  outclassed  his  father.  He  believes  Sir 
Rupert  Johnson  is  the  great  authority  on  the  Brain. 

"Ah!  to  be  sure!"  says  his  father,  "when  Royalties'  brains  get 
softenin',  they  send  for  him  to  pronounce — or  he  oviariotomises 
'em."  He  treats  those  useful  and  much  maligned  members  of  so- 
ciety in  the  reckless  tone  of  one  who  doesn't  expect  ever  to  make 
their  acquaintance.  Kit  recalls  the  conversation  back  to  Charles 
Heath ;  he  asks  when  his  wife  died.    His  father  replies : 

"She  ain't  dead.    She  don't  mean  to  die  in  a  hurry." 

"I  thought  you  said  Mr.  Heath  was  a  widower,  Father?" 

"No,  poor  beggar !  Good  job  if  he  was,  I  should  say.  If  he  were, 
he'd  marry  again  fast  enough!  No,  he's  divorcified  her  a  vinculo, 
and  she's  enjoyin'  guilty  splendour  with  Duke  Bailey  or  Duke 
Humphy."  For  a  little  while  before  this  time  the  famous  Bab 
Ballad  had  appeared  which  introduced  that  lawless  couple  to  its 
readers. 

"The  Catholic  Church,"  says  Chappell,  with  severity,  "does  not 
sanction  the  marriage  of  divorced  persons." 

"Don't  it?  Well  then,  all  I  can  say  is,  it  ought  to  give  double 
allowance  to  the  party  that  divorced  'em.  Bigamy  to  balance,  don't 
you  see  ?  That  would  work  'em  up  four  square  again,  like  at  first." 
But  Mr.  Chappell  doesn't  relish  this  trifling,  especially  before  a 
young  man ;  he  puts  on  his  out-of-doors  coat  and  his  hat  and  goes 
away  to  lunch.  Mr.  Pope  begins  following  his  example  Kit  seems 
to  cling  to  the  conversation. 


2»2  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

"I  say.  Father!" 

"What  do  you  say,  sonny?" 

"I  thought  Mr.  Heath's  wife  was  dead?" 

"Well-^he  ain't." 

"Why?" 

"I  should  have  heard — certain!" 

"Look  here.  Father.  I  thought  she  was  dead.  Gwen  thought 
so  too." 

"Your  sister  thought  so — well — ^you  were  a  couple  of  wise  young 
customers.  She's  alive  and  kicking."  Nevertheless,  Mr.  Pope 
pauses  with  one  arm  in  an  out-of-doors  sleeve,  as  though  waiting 
contradiction. 

"I  mean.  Father,  that  when  we  saw  that  advertisement  at  break- 
fast this  morning  we  thought  it  couldn't  possibly  be  her,  if  she  wag 
dead  already." 

The  arm  goes  no  farther  into  the  sleeve;  its  owner  fixes  his  eyes 
on  his  son's  face. 

"What  advertisement?"  he  aslvs,  with  aroused  interest.  The 
young  man  repeats  it  conscientiously,  word  for  word.  "  'At  Wies- 
baden, on  the  5th  instant,  Lavinia  Straker.  Friends  and  relations 
will  kindly  accept  this  the  only  intimation.' " 

Mr.  Pope  gives  a  short  whistle,  and  says,  briefly,  "My  wig!"  He 
then  pulls  on  the  long  delayed  coat,  and  he  and  his  son  walk  out 
together.  Presently  he  remarks,  as  the  result  of  meditation: 
"There  may  have  been  fifty  Lavinia  Strakers."  Kit,  however,  is  in 
a  position  to  quote  a  high  social  authority. 

"Gwen  thought  not,"  says  he,  "because  the  advertisement  looked 
so,"  and  his  father  seems  to  understand  this — so  we  need  not 
examine  it  critically.  But  Kit's  conclave  with  his  sister  is  not  to 
escape  without  comment. 

"Nice  young  pair  of  half-hatched  chicks,  you  and  your  sister, 
to  be  talking  about  the  poultry  yard — and  you  never  asked  your 
mother,  I  lay!" 

"Gwen  said  mother  would  shut  her  up,"  says  Kit,  somewhat  rue- 
fully— and  then  the  subject  of  an  ill-made  template  displaces  the 
poultry  yard,  and  lasts  till  lunch. 


CHAPTEK  XXTX 

HOW  PEGGY  HAD  BECOSfE  A  GREAT  MAD-DOCTOB*S  WIFE.  HOW  ALICE -FOR- 
SHORT  HAD  BEEN  ALICE  FOR  LONG  ENOUGH  TO  BECOME  A  WOMAN. 
HOW  THE  PARROT  HAD  FORGOTTEN  NOTHING 

Kit  Pope  was  quite  right  about  Sir  Rupert  Johnson.  He  was 
the  great  authority  on  the  Brain.  Not  that  he  was  mistrusted  in 
other  departments  of  Medical  Science,  but  that  that  was  his  great 
and  superseding  speciality.  For  any  one  to  assume  he  was  in  his 
senses  in  the  face  of  the  contrary  verdict  from  Sir  Rupert  Johnson 
would  have  been  held  a  sufficient  proof  of  insanity  in  itself;  so 
that  no  one  whom  he  pronounced  mad  had  any  chance  of  proving 
the  soundness  of  his  mind  but  by  acquiescing  in  and  insisting  on 
its  unsoundness. 

But  our  old  friend  Master  Rupert  was  singularly  merciful  in  his 
judgments.  He  had  said  again  and  again  to  the  many  people  who 
had  come  to  him  to  get  his  help  towards  putting  under  restraint 
Bome  person  whose  property  they  sought  control  over :  "If  you  want 
to  lock  this  man  up  because  he  has  a  harmless  delusion,  you  must 
get  another  doctor  to  help  you.  I  won't !"  And  he  would  maintain 
that  almost  everybody  had  some  delusion  or  other  if  he  would  only 
confess  it,  whereupon  his  enemies  would  allege  that  he  had  said 
that  everybody  was  mad.  He  was  appealed  to  once  to  aid  and  abet 
in  consigning  to  an  asylum  a  girl  who  believed  she  was  followed 
by  a  white  dog.  "Put  her  under  restraint !"  said  he,  "what  do  you 
want  to  restrain  her  from  ?  The  only  thing  you  object  to  is  that  she 
thinks  she  is  followed  by  a  white  dog — she'll  think  so  just  the  same 
in  Colney  Hatch."  The  story  went  (but  how  it  came  to  be  known 
who  can  say?)  that  he  once  said  privately  to  a  man  who  thought 
he  was  Napoleon :  "I  see.  Emperor,  that  what  you  say  is  true — ^but 
why  can't  you  hold  your  tongue  about  it  ?  They  won't  believe  you." 
lAnd  that  patient  was  cured  in  no  time;  but  if  he  is  still  living, 
probably  thinks  he  is  Napoleon  to  this  day.  A  quoi  mal?  The 
fact  was,  Sir  Rupert  did  not  believe  that  fancies  of  this  sort  proved 
that  the  brain  was  diseased;  so,  as  long  as  they  were  harmless  in 
themselves,  he  thought  it  best  to  let  them  alone.  But  if  Napoleon 
had  begun  recruiting,  be  would  have  locked  him  up.  What  a  pity 
there  was  no  one  who  could  do  the  same  to  his  prototype,  who  was 


394  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

correct  enough  in  his  belief  that  he  was  Napoleon,  or  is  usually 
thought  to  have  been  so. 

As  we  have  seen  from  the  conversation  of  Pope  and  Chappell, 
Rupert  Johnson  and  Peggy  Heath  were  married;  as  to  the  date  of 
their  marriage,  the  fact  that  they  had  four  boys  and  three  girls 
leaves  us  none  the  wiser,  but  the  circumstance  that  two  of  the  boys 
were  at  Harrow  makes  it  likely  that  it  came  about  not  so  very  long 
^after  we  parted  from  Peggy  at  Hyde  Park  Gardens  sixteen  years 
ago;  that  day  when  Alice  asked  for  scrunchy  toast  because  it  was 
Friday.  Anyhow,  it  was  ten  years  since  they  moved  into  the  house 
in  Harley  Street,  and  they  had  been  a  long  time  in  Welbeck  Street 
before  that.  Sic  transeunt  human  resolutions ;  all  the  benefits  that 
were  to  accrue  to  the  human  race,  by  way  of  example,  from  Miss 
Margaret  Heath's  singleness,  were  lost  past  all  recovery.  Whether 
the  subtlest  eft  of  all  the  field  felt  the  balance  was  in  his  favour,  or 
wished  he  had  let  matters  alone,  who  can  say?  But  he  must  have 
been  a  little  disconcerted  at  the  successful  family  of  seven — all 
more  or  less  with  their  father's  strength  and  their  mother's  beauty, 
and  the  character  of  both,  who  in  holiday  times  rendered  the 
house  in  Harley  Street  untenantable  except  by  persons  of  the 
strongest  nerves  and  most  forbearing  dispositions. 

When  after  a  long  absence  we  come  back  full  of  expectation  of 
change,  we  are  often  almost  irritated  at  the  pertinacious  sameness 
of  some  of  the  people  and  things  we  had  left  behind.  We  our- 
selves are  exactly  the  same,  of  course;  our  persistent  unalterable 
ego  is  so  absorbing  in  the  foreground  of  our  Self,  that  trifling 
changes  in  details  of  that  composite  entity  count  for  nothing.  We 
went  away  a  complete  carcass;  we  come  back  minus  a  leg,  an  arm, 
an  eye — or  all  three — or,  for  that  matter,  all  six,  tous  compris. 
What  concern  is  that  of  yours?  Mind  your  own  business!  It  is 
our  Self  that  left  you  broken-hearted  at  our  departure;  that  wrote 
you,  duly,  those  letters  that  grew  less  and  less,  and  waned,  until 
at  last  they  all  but  ceased,  and  then  came  only  to  ask  some  little 
favour — something  we  couldn't  get  in  the  colony,  or  we  wouldn't 
bother  you,  but  if  you  could  get  it  would  you  forward  per  etcetera, 
care  of  somebody.  It  is  this  very  Self  that  has  come  back  to  you, 
we  warrant  it,  look  you  now!  And  we  know,  intensely  and  un- 
changeably as  we  remain  the  same,  that  Time  has  been  at  work  in 
our  absence,  and  has  made  hay  with  your  identity  that  was  as  the 
fresh  green  pasture  of  the  Spring.  Whatever  we  are,  we  know  that 
you  will  have  grown  very  fat,  or  very  thin,  or  very  serious ;  or  lost 
your  hair  or  your  teeth,  or  your  looks.    Venus  will  have  fled,  and 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  295 

the  colour  that  was  so  becoming — so  more  than  becoming.  But 
we  can  make  allowances — we  know  the  way  of  life;  and  we  and 
our  luggage  drive  up  to  the  door  you  waved  your  farewell  to  us 
from,  ten — fifteen — twenty  years  ago,  and  have  no  misgivings — 
because  we  are  no  longer  a  child  and  can  realise  all  about  Time^ 
and  change,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  don't  you  know  ? 

And  here,  after  all,  we  find  you.  Well! — we'll  be  hanged  if  we 
can  see  the  difference,  when  all's  said  and  done.  You  are  (some- 
times) so  very,  very  little  altered — compared  with  what  we  ex- 
pected. Your  hair  is  still  all  your  own,  and  much  of  its  old  colour; 
your  teeth  may  be  new,  one  or  two  of  them,  but  that  won't  part 
us,  even  if  you  confess  up  about  them;  your  hands  may  be  a  bit 
larger — but  what  of  that  ?  They  are  sweet  and  full  of  life  and  wel- 
come, and  your  voice  and  manner — why,  surely  they  are  the  very 
same  we  remember  in  the  old  years  which,  if  not  quite  unfor- 
gotten,  we  are  so  very  easily  reminded  of.  And  then  in  the  first 
flush  of  our  long-looked-for  return,  we  and  you  are  full  of  gladness,^ 
and  think  it  will  all  be  as  it  was  in  the  days  before  our  parting. 

But  it  isn't !  The  chill  comes  soon,  and  we  know  that  our  rejoic- 
ing is  dying  down.  It  won't  come  back,  the  old  time,  for  all  we 
swept  and  garnished  our  hearts  to  receive  it.  And  then  we  look 
round  at  the  things  that  be,  the  new  young  lives  that  have  come 
and  grown  in  our  absence;  the  vacant  places  that  were  full,  the 
homes  that  have  been  cleared  away;  the  tenements  or  dwellings 
or  mansions  that  have  risen  where  they  stood !  And  we  settle  down 
to  the  actual,  and  try  to  find  some  solace  for  the  loss  of  the  things 
that  were;  but  perhaps,  after  all,  if  we  got  them  back,  they  would 
interfere  seriously  with  the  things  that  are,  and  that  we  really 
must  attend  to. 

However — to  go  back  to  what  we  were  saying — this  firm  con- 
servation of  appearance  and  identity  has  its  irritating  element. 
It  is  most  frequent  between  the  twenties  and  the  forties ;  and  what 
a  lady  of  forty  can  forget  about  little  incidents  of  her  twenties, 
and  the  way  she  is  wrapped  up  in  the  new  young  lives  she  is  (to 
a  great  extent)  responsible  for,  may  make  the  outsider — ^you  or 
ourself — feel  very  flat  indeed. 

But  what  is  the  end  and  object  of  all  the  lecture?  It  is  to  pre- 
vent the  reader  of  this  narrative  imagining  that  the  beautiful 
young  matron  who,  on  the  late  May  morning  when  we  saw  Charles 
Heath  on  the  stairs  at  No.  40,  and  thought  he  must  be  somebody 
else,  was  writing  a  letter  in  Harley  Street  and  being  dreadfully 
hindered  by  two  very  little  girls — that  this  young  woman,  who 
might  have  been  described  as  Margaret  Heath  and  more,  could  rec- 


296  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

ollect  nearly  so  mticli  of  the  first  half  of  this  story  she  makes  pari 
of  as  you  can  who  have  just  read  it.  But  you  can  recollect  her 
well  enough — there  she  is,  her  very  self,  only  perhaps  there  is  in 
her  figure  a  declaration  that  it  intends  to  approximate  to  her 
mother's,  as  we  knew  her,  in  another  sixteen  years,  and  the  hand 
that  holds  the  pen  has  lost  the  girlish  beauty  of  the  one  that  wrote 
to  Mrs.  Wycherly  Watkins,  and  has  got  a  new  beauty  of  its  own; 
its  strength  and  self-reliance  rest  on  it  as  a  garment,  as  it  pauses 
above  the  paper,  even  as  a  hand  that  thinks,  and  does  not  mean  to 
write  a  word  that  need  be  altered  or  erased.  And  at  this  moment 
the  younger  child,  a  little  three-year-old,  captures  the  arm  it  be- 
longs to,  and  makes  further  writing  impossible — its  owner  has  to 
appeal  for  succour. 

"Alice  dear,  do  come  and  take  Alee  away,  and  show  her  pictures 
of  something  horrible,  or  let  her  spin  the  terrestrial  globe  round.  I 
shall  never  get  my  letter  done.  Yes — sweet  Ducky !  That's  a  Ben- 
gal Tidy — and  the  other's  a  Serpm." 

"Wiss  is  to  eat  wiss?" 

"Whichever  you  please,  my  pet — but  go  away  to  Aunty  Lissy, 
and  let  Mummy  write."  And  then  as  she  refuses,  flatly,  but 
sweetly,  to  go  to  Aunty  Lissy,  her  mother  calls  again,  in  a  raised 
voice,  for  Alice.  .  .  . 

She  will  come  in  from  somewhere  directly — our  old  own  Alice- 
for-short !  Shall  we  know  her  again  ?  Oh !  yes — why,  we  recognised 
Peggy  at  once!    There  will  be  no  difficulty  about  AKce. 

Here  she  comes;  we  can  hear  her  rustle  beyond  that  door.  No! 
this  is  Aunty  Lissy, — Peggy  calls  her  so, — and  very  pretty  she  is. 
Never  a  sweeter  face  to  be  found  in  all  the  length  of  Harley  Street 
— will  you  take  the  wager  ?    But  we  want  to  see  Alice.  .  .  . 

What  did  we  expect  to  see  ?  We  fancy  we  hear  you  ask  this  ques- 
tion. Not  a  little  girl  with  a  sort  of  comic  manner,  all  her  own, 
after  all  these  years?  Oh!  no — ^we  knew  she  would  be  a  woman, 
theoretically.  Nor  did  we  think  she  was  going  to  be  plain,  with 
those  big  blue  eyes  and  that  little  oval  face,  so  well  set  on  her  small 
round  throat.  We  suspected  she  would  turn  out  pretty,  but  it  was 
to  be  on  lines  we  were  prepared  for — and  nothing,  in  Alice-for- 
short  that  was,  prepared  us  for  Aunty  Lissy  that  is.  Not  that, 
now  we  come  to  look  at  her,  we  do  not  feel  that  it  is  really  she; 
as  we  look  her  identity  dawns,  grows  stronger,  becomes  irresistible. 
We  see  it  now — but  what  a  funny  way  of  remaining  the  same! 
Not  at  all  the  one  we  should  have  chosen.  But  it's  done  now, 
and  we  may  take  her  as  she  stands,  and  be  glad  that  after  all  she 
has  turned  out  such  a  very  pretty  woman. 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  297 

Such  a  very  pretty  woman!  That's  it!  It's  the  maturity  we 
resent — we  wanted  her  to  be,  in  some  sense,  a  child  still;  older,  of 
course — taller,  of  course;  more  dignified,  of  course — heaps  of 
things,  of  course.    But  not  a  woman.— 

Well!  it  can't  be  helped — we  must  accept  her,  self-possession  and 
all.  Let  us  be  glad  she  has  kept  her  pale  blue  eyes  and  her  small 
round  throat,  and  thankful  that  her  hair  is  much  the  same  colour — 
mouse-colour  with  a  tinge  of  chestnut;  does  that  convey  any  idea 
to  you  ?  And  let  us  be  grateful  that  she  has  never  overpassed  the 
average  height,  but  is  petite  and  compact  still. — ^Oh!  dear!  how 
very  petite  and  compact  she  was  in  those  old  days — what  a  small 
midget  it  was  that  was  pulled  with  a  rope  up  the  precipice  at  Surge 
Point,  and  left  Dr.  Jomson  behind  her,  upside  down.  We  must 
accept  the  inevitable — look  facts  in  the  face — and  drop  the  subject. 
Or  the  story  won't  go  on. 

When  Peggy,  having  been  rescued  by  Alice,  or  Aunty  Lissy,  from 
the  aggressions  of  the  small  thing  of  the  same  name,  had  finished 
her  letter,  she  folded  it  and  allowed  the  other  small  thing,  because 
she  had  been  so  good  it  seemed,  to  lick  it  and  stick  it  to  for  a  treat. 
Then  she  wrote  another  letter,  and  the  silence  of  the  back  drawing- 
room  in  Harley  Street  acknowledged  only  the  scratching  of  her 
pen;  a  murmured  recital  from  a  picture-book  of  the  senior  baby, 
whose  name  was  Phyllis;  a  hushed  demonstration  in  Zoology, 
chiefly  fictitious,  in  the  room  beyond  to  keep  the  junior  baby  iu 
check,  and  a  distant  murmur  of  carriage  wheels  implying  that 
visitor-time  was  coming  or  had  come.  A  premature  Summer  had 
set  in  with  a  rush;  as  sometimes  happens  in  May,  and  then  we 
know  we  have  to  enjoy  it  while  it  lasts. 

Lady  Johnson  (that  was  Peggy  Heath's  name  now,  and  we  can't 
get  over  the  oddity  of  it)  finished  her  last  letter  rapidly,  as  a  letter 
easily  written  and  involving  nothing ;  she  fastened  and  directed  it 
as  one  does,  much  relieved,  at  the  end  of  a  batch  of  letters,  and  said 
triumphantly— "There  I" 

**Now  you  may  ring  the  bell,  Phillips,"  she  went  on,  addressing 
the  little  girl;  "only  pull  it  dovsm  very  gently  and  when  you've 
got  it  down,  don't  hang  on  the  handle  but  let  it  go  back  click. 
That's  right."  And  the  bell  was  so  successfully  rung  that  it  went 
on  for  ever  so  long,  and  had  hardly  stopi)ed  when  a  he-servant,  in 
suppressed  livery,  entered  the  room  with  promptness  in  his  manner 
and  responsibility  on  his  countenance. 

"These  letters  must  go  at  once,  Handsworth.  These  for  the 
post — these  by  hand — send  James.  And  say  he  must  take  the 
underground — and  tell  nurse  she  can  come  for  these  children." 


298  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

Peggy  spoke  of  these  children  as  accidents  she  had  not  encouraged, 
and  Handsworth  disappeared  with  the  letters  and  his  instructions. 
While  the  door  stood  open,  a  parrot  was  audible  below ;  we  should 
perhaps  have  included  him  in  the  current  noises;  but  really  when 
the  door  closed  again  it  almost  shut  his  voice  out,  so  substantial 
was  it  and  so  close  at  the  joints. 

"Your  baby's  very  quiet  in  there,  Alice." 

"She's  gone  off  like  a  top  on  my  knee;  I'm  writing  over  her." 
And  the  scratching  of  another  pen  could  have  been  heard  by  a 
sharp  ear.  "Come  here — she's  sweet !"  Peggy  went  into  the  little 
patch-room  where  Alice  was  writing,  and  put  her  arm  around  the 
adopted  aunt's  neck  from  behind.  Both  gloated  over  the  sleeping 
lapful.    I  wish  you  could  have  seen  them. 

"Did  you  hear  that  parrot,  Alice?" 

"Oh  dear,  yes!  I  heard  him.  Isn't  it  funny?  He  only  does  it 
now  at  intervals.    I  haven't  heard  it  for  months  and  months." 

"I  was  trying  to  think  when  he  began — was  it  when  she " 

"Oh  no !    Ages  before  that.    Why,  it's  as  long  as  I  can  recollect." 

And  then  both  ladies  said  together,  as  by  an  inspiration:  "Oh 
yes!  I  know — I  remember,"  and  Alice  says,  for  both,  what  they 
remember : 

"It  was  that  day,  of  course,  when  she  first  came  to  the  Gardens 
and  sang."    And  Peggy  goes  on  with  the  reminiscence : 

*1  know.  I  recollect  it  all  now.  It  was  when  that  old  mother  of 
hers  was  in  the  front  room — and  he  picked  the  name  up  and 
shrieked  it  aU  the  evening.    Poor  Charley!" 

The  nurse  came  in  and  the  children  were  conveyed  away,  one 
awake  and  one  asleep.  As  the  door  opened  there  came  again  from 
afar,  clear  and  unmistakable,  the  name  the  parrot  had  shrieked  be- 
fore—"Straker !" 

"There  now!"  said  Alice.  "Well!  he  is  a  funny  Polly.  What 
on  earth  has  made  him  rake  that  up  now?  I  wish  he  would  put 
the  kettle  on  instead,  and  then  we'd  all  have  tea." 

"We  needn't  wait  any  longer  for  tea.  Ellen  won't  come  now." 
And  Lady  Johnson  pulled  the  bell  for  tea.  "I'm  not  at  home  if 
anybody  comes,  Handsworth,"  is  the  postscript  to  her  instruction  to 
bring  it.  She  went  on :  "Charley  will  come  in  and  will  have  a 
nice  quiet  time.  I  really  am  getting  to  hate  people  more  and 
more " 

"What  nonsense.  Miss  Peggy !"  for  the  old  first  name  of  all  had 
clung  to  its  owner,  as  far  as  Alice  was  concerned,  and  we  are  glad 
she  has  not  forgotten  it,  so  far,  in  the  story. — But  read  on,  and  you 
will  see  she  will  vary  her  nomenclature,  most  perversely,  as  she 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  29» 

continues:  'Tou  know  you  don't  hate  lots  of  people,  so  come  now. 
Lady  Johnson " 

"I  mean  I  hate  people  that  call  and  leave  cards,  and  are  at  home 
on  Thursdays — Music." 

"Very  well,  Lady  Johnson,  then  I  shall  tell  the  Stossingers  you 
hate  them,  if  it's  that.    Besides,  it's  very  good  music." 

"Very  good  music,  and  we're  going ;  but  it  isn't  to-day  and  to-day 
is  Thursday — the  Stossingers  is  the  fourth,  and  the  eleventh." 

"Yes — and  to-day's  the  fourth." 

"It  can't  be !    At  least,  if  it  is,  I've  dated  my  letters  wrong." 

"Then  you've  dated  your  letters  wrong — look  at  the  newspaper — 
it's  out  there  somewhere,"  On  which  Peggy  went  to  seek  for  it, 
and  Alice  waited,  leaning  back  in  her  chair  and  looking  round 
after  her  to  hear  the  date  confirmed.  She  heard  the  newspaper 
rustle  as  Peggy  picked  it  up;  and  said  interrogatively,  "Well — ■ 
Lady  Johnson — who's  right?"  Her  accuracy  was  admitted.  "Quite 
right,  dear;  it  is  to-night.  I  don't  mind  going  at  all." — But  the 
speaker  had  caught  on  to  the  paper,  and  had  begun  to  think  of 
something  else.  She  was  looking  at  the  Births,  Deaths,  and 
Marriages. 

"Salmon — Wainwright.  Wasn't  that  a  Miss  Wainwright  with 
those  people  at  Brighton  where  Ellen  stayed  ?"  And  Alice  replied : 
"No,  not  Wainwright — Pulborough";  and  neither  seemed  to  think 
the  error  in  recollection  anything  to  be  surprised  at.  Alice  had 
dipped  her  pen  to  go  on  writing,  when  Lady  Johnson,  who  had  not 
put  the  paper  down,  gave  a  short  sudden  cry — of  surprise  cer- 
tainly— scarcely  pain : 

"Oh !  Alice,  oh,  my  dear !    Come  at  once.    Look,  look  at  this !" 

And  Alice  went  quickly.  She  took  the  sheet  of  The  Times  from 
the  pointing  finger,  and  read  the  announcement  of  a  death  we  al- 
ready know. 

"Oh,  Margaret  darling !    Yes — it  must  be — it  must !    Oh  dear !" 

And  both  women  burst  into  tears;  they  are  not  exactly  tears  of 
sorrow  for  the  death — that  could  scarcely  be.  Rather  they  are  a 
tribute  to  the  whole  unhappy  past,  and  the  wasted  and  ruined  life 
of  poor  Charles  Heath.  It  is  the  end — ^the  official  end — of  a  sad 
epoch,  and  Death  comes,  as  his  way  is,  to  report  progress;  to  put 
his  seal  upon  events,  and  make  us  think  back  upon  the  bygone  time. 
And  then  we,  for  our  part,  may  weigh  it  well,  and  wonder  if  all 
that  we  regret  the  loss  of  was  really  good,  and  even  if  what 
seemed  so  hard  to  endure  was  always  evil.  And  may  decide — ^most 
likely — that  those  are  points  on  which  we  may  never  be  a  penny 
the  wiser,  and  that  we  may  as  well  let  them  alone. 


OHAPTEB  XXX 

HOW  DEATH  MUST  NEEDS  BE  SAD,  EVEN  OF  A  RIDDANCE.     HOW  A  BOY 
NAMED  PIEEIRE  HAD  SMALLPOX,  AND  ALICE  WENT  TO  NURSE  HIM 

Peggy  and  Alice,  as  they  waited  for  tea  in  the  front  room,  listen- 
ing to  the  perpetual  rumble  of  carriages,  softened  down  to  nil  in 
the  immediate  vicinity  by  a  neighbour  who  had  burst  out  in  straw 
all  over  the  street,  were  very  silent  at  first.  Peggy  went  and  looked 
out  at  the  front  window,  while  Alice  made  the  tea.  The  kettle 
fizzed  and  sputtered,  and  probably  wished  it  could  put  its  spirit- 
lamp  out;  the  near  double-knocks  of  the  callers  close  by  were  an- 
swered by  others  afar ;  and  some  were  futile,  while  others  fructified. 
Polly  was  noisy  below,  and  whenever  the  door  opened  for  some 
development  or  extenuation  of  tea,  his  shriek  was  in  evidence.  His 
accidental  revival  of  a  favourite  shout  of  former  years  was  grisly ; 
and  Alice,  when  she  had  made  the  tea,  went  quietly  downstairs  and 
put  his  shawl  over  him  and  quenched  him.  Then  she  returned  to 
pour  it  out,  and  carried  the  two  cups  to  the  little  table  near  the 
fresh  spring  air  from  the  open  window,  and  both  ladies  sat  down  on 
the  sofa  that  belonged  to  it. 

"How  much  can  you  remember  of  aU  that  time,  Alice?  You 
were  only  a  small,  you  know." 

"Remember!  Why,  I  remember  it  all,  as  plain  as  yesterday — 
how  she  came  to  sing,  and  poor  little  Dan  said  how  awfully  jolly 
she  was,  and  when  we  were  sent  away  to  bed  we  listened  on  the 
stairs." 

"Poor  little  Danny!  But  we  did  aU  like  her  then,  Alice,  didn't 
we  2  I  know  I  wanted  to  like  her  then,  for  Charley's  sake — 
because  I  saw  how  it  was." 

"So  did  I.  But  it  wasn't  so  hard  for  me  to  like  her,  because  I 
thought  Mr.  Charley  must  be  right.  I  think  we  understood  it,  on 
the  stairs,  Danny  and  I."  And  Alice's  sad,  clear  eyes  look  wist- 
fully back  into  the  past.  Did  we  understand  it? — Peggy  wonders 
to  herself. — Both  sit  silent  in  intervals,  and  when  they  speak,  it  is 
with  voices  dropped.    This  time,  Alice  speaks  first  again. 

"You  know  I  wasn't  such  a  small  as  all  that;  I  was  old  enough 
to  go  to  Miss  Fortescue's,  or  very  nearly.  You  know  it  was  in  the 
January  I  went,  when  the  hard  frost  came." 

300 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  301 

**I  know.  You  "went  away  the  day  before  the  ice.  You  were  not 
there  when  Danny  was  brought  in."  Peggy's  mind  pauses  on  the 
memory  of  another  grief;  it  is  long  enough  ago  now  to  talk  of  it 
quietly.  Have  you  ever  recognised  the  fact  that,  in  trouble,  ease 
comes  from  talking  of  another  trouble  instead  ?  Alice  feels  it  too, 
in  this  case,  and  does  not  break  the  thread ;  she  is  silent  and  Peggy 
continues: 

"I  remember  Rupert's  voice  so  well — 'Don't  give  in — don*t  give 
in' — oh,  such  a  long  time !  And  then  at  last  there  was  no  hope  at 
all.  And  yet  we  felt  it  was  wrong  to  despair,  and  leave  the  poor 
little  drowned  body  alone." 

"Oh,  I  know !  I  thought  I  recollected  it,  but  of  course  I  don't,  I 
wasn't  really  there.  I  only  heard.  But  I  remember  your  letter  to 
Miss  Fortescue,  and  her  saying:  'I'm  afraid,  Alice,  this  must  be 
from  your  Aunt  Margaret' — and  the  black  edge.  She  always  said, 
'Your  Aunt  Margaret.' " 

"I  wonder,"  says  Peggy,  striking  a  new  vein  in  the  mine  of 
reminiscence,  "if  you  can  recollect  when  you  went  away  to  Miss 
Fortescue's,  and  how  we  could  hardly  get  you  off  Charley  V 

"Oh  yes!  I  remember  it  all.  But  it  aeems  now  as  if  it  was 
another  little  girl,  not  me." 

"Do  you  recollect  my  keeping  on  that  you  were  not  to  be  a  goose, 
because  Mr.  Charley  wasn't  going  away  ?" 

"I  recollect.  At  least,  I  seem  to  recollect  that  the  other  little 
girl  went  nearly  frantic,  and  screamed  to  Mr.  Charley  not  to  go 
away ;  and  you  all  tried  to  console  her,  or  me,  whichever  it  was." 

There  is  a  moment  or  two  of  silence,  and  then  Peggy  says: 
"He'll  be  here  very  soon  now — it's  nearly  half-past,"  and  then 
drops  back  to  reminiscence. 

"Perhaps  I  was  wrong  in  letting  him  persuade  me,  but  what 
difference  could  it  have  made,  when  he  came  to  me  and  ssud: 
'Look  here,  Poggy-Woggy,  I'm  going  to  cut  it  short  and  marry 
Lavinia  to-morrow !' — what  could  I  say  to  him  ?  What  good  would 
it  have  done,  if  I  had  refused  to  go? — and  how  could  I  when  he 
said :  'If  you  don't  come,  Poggy,  there  won't  be  a  living  soul  in  it 
of  my  own  belongings,  and  people  will  think  you  think  all  sorts  of 
things' — what  could  I  have  done  but  what  I  did?" 

"Nothing.    It  was  all  right;  it  had  to  be." 

"But  I  did  think — I  always  shall  think — ^Papa  was  wrong,  well! 
mistaken — only  it  seems  hard  to  say  so  now,  and  I'm  sure  Mamma 
was.  It  was  refusing  to  receive  her  was  such  a  mistake.  Of 
course.  Papa  was  obliged  to  go  Mamma's  way." 

"Of  course  1" 


303  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

"And  as  for  its  being  her  duty  because  of  Ellen,  that  was  all 
stufi  and  nonsense;  it  was  no  fault  of  hers  that  the  father  was  a 
bad  character."  Alice  puts  in  a  word  for  Mrs.  Heath,  or  "Grand- 
mamma," for  that  is  her  status  now.  "Was  she  not  right  after  all  ? 
— as  it  turned  out  in  the  end,  I  mean — 'Like  father,  like  son' — so 
people  say,"  says  Alice. 

"Yes — she  turned  out  badly,"  says  Peggy;  "but  what  I  mean  is 
that  if  Mamma  had  been  more  coming,  and  temporised  a  little,  it 
might  all  have  died  down  naturally,  and — oh,  dear!  it's  no  use 
thinking  of  it  now;  but  of  course,  as  it  was,  all  poor  Charley's 
chivalry  was  up  in  arms;  you  know  what  Charley's  like?" 

"Oh!  yes— I  know!" 

"And  then,  of  course.  Mamma  had  to  give  in  in  the  end.  You 
were  not  there  the  day  he  brought  her  back  from  abroad  to  the 
Oardens,  and  took  her  straight  to  Mamma  and  said:  'This  is  my 
wife.  Mother.    If  you  send  her  away,  you  send  me  too.' " 

"And  what  did  Granny  say?" 

"Said  she  had  been  set  at  naught,  but  it  was  her  duty  as  a 
Christian  to  forgive.  It's  a  shame  to  laugh,  Alice  darling,  but 
really  I  can  hardly  help  it.  Poor  Mamma !  As  long  as  she  could 
make  dear  Papa  do  the  work  and  keep  in  the  background  herself, 
ehe  was  all  Spartan  fortitude.  The  minute  she  was  face  to  face 
with  the  enemy,  she  turned  tail.  And  Lavinia  looked  very  nice — 
and  poor  Charley  looked  so  happy  and  beaming.  Oh,  dear !"  And 
Peggy  doesn't  look  as  if  she  found  it  hard  not  to  laugh.  Alice 
kisses  her,  en  passant,  to  keep  her  up.  A  prolonged  knock,  that 
sounds  like  a  disquisition  ending  in  a  gun,  comes  at  the  street- 
■door;  and  the  conversation  is  held  in  check  imtil  the  concomitant 
footman  has  met  his  fate,  and  died  away,  leaving  cards.  Speech 
■could  not  be  audible  below,  but  such  a  long  coat  as  came  with 
the  knock  affects  the  imagination,  and  imposes  the  secrecy  of 
silence  on  whoso  has  said  he  is  not  at  home. 

Peggy  and  Alice  speak  with  bated  voices;  until  the  young  man 
(who  knows  all  about  it)  has  enthroned  himself  on  the  box,  and 
gone  away.  Then  Peggy  speaks  above  her  breath  again,  as  one 
relieved : 

"I've  never  made  out  to  this  day  when  it  was  that  it  began. 
(Those  people  were  the  Fotheringays.)  You  know  they  were  very 
liappy  at  first,  or  seemed  so.  I  fancy  it  was  while  you  were  still 
too  small  to  understand  much  about  it.  I  can't  say  I  ever  found 
much  fault  with  her  myself — but  of  course  she  was  extravagant, 
and  there  was  always  the  one  thing.  Charley  used  to  turn  it  into 
a  joke  at  first,  and  talk  about  her  sweethearts;  then  the  moment 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  303 

there  was  a  suspicion  of  anything  being  in  earnest,  poor  Charley's 
persistent  attempt  to  keep  it  a  joke  got  painful.  Nothing  would 
make  him  see  there  was  anything  wrong  with  Lavinia ;  he  was  too 
chivalrous  to  admit  it.  I  don't  believe  he  ever  realised  it  until 
that  business  with  Lowenstern." 

"They  were  at  the  Hotel  together?"  half  says,  half  asks  Alice. 
And  Peggy  replies:  "Yes,  and  poor  Charley  all  the  time  thought 
she  was  at  Birmingham  with  her  mother.  Robin  came  upon  them 
at  Leamington  and  went  straight  for  Lowenstern,  and  she  threw 
herself  on  Robin  and  held  him  while  Lowenstern  ran  away.  Then 
she  wanted  to  make  him  believe  there  was  no  harm  in  it — ^just  an 
accident!  But  the  waiter  had  told  Robin  they  were  Mosaoo  and 
Madame  Ragon  .  .  .  isn't  that  him?"  But  it  wasn't.  Peggy 
seemed  to  find  a  satisfaction  in  talking  it  all  over,  and  Alice  in 
hearing  her,  so  she  went  on: 

"He  never  would  have  divorced  her,  you  know,  except  for  her 
own  sake.  He  said  it  would  be  her  last  chance  of  being  a  respecta- 
ble woman;  but  she  never  got  the  chance,  for  Lowenstern  laughed 
at  her." 

"Was  she  with  him,  I  mean  Lowenstern,  when  she  died  ?"  Alice 
asks  as  believing  that  there  may  still  be  things  she  has  never  heard. 
The  unhappy  soprano  had  been  talked  of  as  little  as  possible. 

"I  don't  know  the  least,"  Peggy  answers.  "Charley  and  I  al- 
ways felt  the  less  we  heard  about  her  the  better,  and  you  see  the 
advertisement  gives  no  clue.  I'm  sure  that's  his  knock."  But 
no!  It  wasn't  his  knock,  even  now,  and  it  was  getting  quite 
late. 

"I  wish  he'd  come,"  says  his  sister,  "I'm  all  on  the  jar — and  it 
makes  me  fancy  every  knock  is  his.  That  wasn't  anybody.  It  was 
a  mistake — they've  gone  away  to  thirty-five  opposite."  And  the 
two  stand  at  the  window  and  watch  the  mistake,  in  the  shape  of  a 
thick  lady  with  a  thin  daughter,  reinstated  as  accurate  and  gath- 
ered into  the  bosom  of  thirty-five,  opposite.  Alice  keeps  silent,  but 
Peggy  goes  on  talking. 

"I  was  always  so  very,  very  glad  Papa  never  lived  to  know  it. 
The  disgrace  would  have  broken  his  heart." 

"And  people  don't  really  mind,"  Alice  cuts  in  suddenly  and 
rather  enigmatically.  "You  know  what  I  mean,  dear !"  And  Peggy 
seems  to  know  so  well  what  she  means,  that  nothing  but  a  nod  with 
closed  lips  is  necessary.  We  know,  of  course,  that  what  Alice 
meant  was  that  public  condemnation  isn't  in  earnest  about  any- 
thing of  this  sort,  and  indeed  has  an  element  of  forgiveness  in  it 
for  those  who  kindly  provide  interesting  divorce-court  cases.    What 


304  ALICE-FOR-SIIORT 

should  we  do  without  them,  when  we  are  regular  persons :  we  can't 
always  be  at  church! 

"Poor  dear  Papa !  How  he  used  to  reproach  himself  for  letting 
Charley  be  an  artist!  I  remember  how  he  said,  when  I  told  him 
how  good  he'd  been  to  Charley,  that  he  owed  it  to  the  poor  boy 
for  never  having  stopped  him.  'How  can  a  man  know  he  can't 
paint  unless  somebody  tells  him?'  said  he,  'and  nobody  ever  told 
poor  Charley.'  And  then  he  blamed  himself  for  never  having 
had  the  courage  of  his  opinions — 'But  wo  were  all  such  mighty 
fine  people' — you  remember  Papa,  Alice  dear  ?"  And  Alice  remem- 
bered very  well.  Both  sit  on,  thinking  of  bygones,  but  the  last 
recollection  has  given  a  new  list  to  the  conversation,  and  Peggy 
recurs  to  a  theme  that  is  evidently  often  under  discussion.  "Alice, 
dear,"  says  she,  as  one  provided  for  a  fresh  possibility  in  it;  and 
Alice  feays,  "What?" 

"Do  you  really  think  Charley  will  never,  never,  never — make 
anything  of  it?" 

Alice  waives  the  issue.  "He  makes  something  by  stained-glass,'* 
contains  the  implication  that  he  makes  nothing  by  something  else — 
pictures,  no  doubt.  We  notice  that  there  is  in  Lady  Johnson  a  cer- 
tain deference  for  Alice;  that  she  seems  to  impute  authority  to 
her.  Indeed,  Alice's  face  has  a  sense  of  brightness  on  the  fore- 
head; which  is,  however,  well-set  and  free  from  overpowering 
phrenologies,  or  we  are  not  sure  we  would  have  anything  to  do  with 
her.  It  does  not,  as  some  foreheads  do,  advertise  the  profoundness 
of  its  thought.  But  it  leaves  one  with  a  sense  that  something  has 
flashed,  and  we  can't  say  what ;  and  we  know  that  the  eyebrows,  not 
dark  but  firmly  pencilled,  will  back  up  the  flash,  if  need  be,  for  all 
they  are  so  still  in  their  repose.  Just  this  time,  they  move  a  little — 
a  slight  half-rueful  wrinlde,  as  she  adds :  "Poor  Mr.  Charley !"  For 
note,  that  to  her  he  is  always  "Mr."  Charley.  It  is  not  ceremoni- 
ousness — rather,  a  form  of  familiarity. 

"He'll  never  paint  a  really  finished  picture,"  says  she.  And  we 
are  painfully  conscious  that  the  flash  has  penetrated  the  dark 
corners  of  the  subject.  But  it  has  found  something  there  it  would 
like  to  show  us.  "He  has  plenty  of  ability,  you  know,"  Alice  goes 
on,  "only  he's  on  the  wrong  tack." 

"Do  you  mean  he's  painting  the  wrong  sort  of  pictures  ?" 

"ISTo,  no.  The  wrong  tack  altogether !" — But  just  as  we  are  going 
to  hear  what  Charles's  metier  should  have  been,  there  comes  a 
knock  both  recognise  as  really  his.  Peggy  says,  "I'll  go,"  and 
leaves  the  room  to  meet  him.  Alice  does  not  follow,  but  waits 
half-way  to  the  door,  listening  to  hear  them  meet.    In  a  moment  it 


ALICE-FOR-SHOKT  S05 

OS  clear  that  they  are  not  speaking  of  the  death.  Something  present 
and  pressing  is  displacing  it.    Alice  goes  out. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  Peggy  is  saying.  "Only  another  false 
alarm !" 

"Well !  I'm  only  saying  what  old  Payne  says — I  hope  he's  wrong." 
Alice  asks  what's  the  matter,  and  Lady  Johnson  answers: 

"Dr.  Payne  says  Pierre  has  got  smallpox." 

"Has  got  some  of  the  early  symptoms,"  Charles  corrects  the 
broad  statement.  "Ten  to  one  he's  wrong.  We  shall  see  to- 
morrow— meanwhile,  I  oughtn't  to  come  here,  I  only  came  over 
to  tell  you;  Payne  said  there  would  be  no  danger  yet." 

"Oh !  Charley  dear,  what  an  alarmist  you  are !  Now  do  come  in 
and  don't  be  silly."  And  under  his  sister's  soothing  influence 
Charles  comes  into  the  drawing-room,  and  submits  to  the  current 
refreshment  under  protest.  "Going  without  your  tea  won't  make 
it  a  bit  safer,  you  silly  old  boy,"  says  Peggy.  Charles  acquiesces 
generally,  but  evidently  thinks  if  he  keeps  at  a  distance  and  kisses 
nobody,  his  germs  will  flock  round  him  and  not  cross  the  room. 
He  gives  details  of  the  symptoms,  which  Peggy  treats  with  deri- 
sion: "If  one  was  to  pay  attention  to  all  the  fussifications  about 
infection,"  she  says,  "there  would  never  be  an  end  of  it!" 

"What's  Alice  after?"  asks  Charles,  for  Alice  has  quitted  the 
room  and  run  upstairs.  Presently  she  is  audible  returning.  Peggy 
has  been  thinking  out  the  best  approach  to  the  subject  of  the 
advertisement.  Alice  calls  to  her  from  outside,  and  she  goes  out; 
then  follows  a  short  colloquy  in  an  undertone,  and  Peggy  returns. 
"What's  Alice  after?"  Charles  asks  again.  She  replies  equivocally 
and  the  question  dies  down,  and  she  goes  and  sits  by  her  brother  on 
the  arm  of  the  big  chair  he  is  drinking  the  half -cold  tea  in.  The 
hand  that  l^egins  automatically  to  ruffle  his  hair,  as  in  old  days,  is 
bigger,  and  the  hair  it  touches  is  either  cut  closer  or  not  so  thick, 
but  now  that  we  see  them  together  in  this  way,  and  there  is  leisure 
to  think  both  over,  we  are  aware  that  the  changes  of  Time  have 
gone  mostly  in  the  direction  of  gravity  and  sadness  on  his  part, 
and  mere  amplification  on  hers.  Lady  Johnson  of  Harley  Street 
with  four  boys  and  three  girls  is  quite  as  like  Peggy  Heath  as 
one  could  reasonably  expect.  But  we  could  have  reconciled  our- 
selves to  much  more  tangible  change  in  Charley,  to  have  his  old 
smile  back. 

"Have  you  had  any  other  news,  Charley  dear?" 

"Yes !"  A  simple,  direct  af&rmative  is  so  rare  that  Peggy  at  once 
sees  he  knows  of  his  wife's  death.  She  could  not  have  guessed  it 
from  anything  in  his  previous  manner.     She  finds  she  does  not 


306  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

know  what  to  say  next,  and  says  nothing;  if  he  has  heard  any 
particulars  of  the  event,  he  will  tell  her  of  his  own  accord,  but 
Alice's  disappearance  is  still  unaccounted  for,  and  Charles  harks 
back  on  it.    "What  was  Alice  after?"  he  says. 

"Now  you  mustn't  be  angry!  She  went  straight  away  to  Acacia 
Road  to  see  after  Pierre."  Charles  starts  up  from  his  chair  in 
great  perturbation. 

"Oh!  Poggy-Woggy,  how  could  you?  Oh  dear!  Oh  dear!  I 
must  go  and  see  and  send  her  back  again." 

"Now,  Charley  dear !  don't  be  silly.  Besides,  you  know  perfectly 
well  you  can't  manage  Alice — she  always  gets  her  own  way." 
Charles  appears  to  be  conscious  that  this  is  so,  and  subsides  into 
his  chair  again.  "It's  all  very  fine.  Lady  Johnson,"  he  says ;  for  he, 
like  Alice,  often  uses  this  designation,  "but  suppose  Alice  catches 
it,  and  comes  out  like  a  nutmeg-grater  all  over?" 

"I  don't  believe  there's  any  *it'  for  her  to  catch;  and  I  should 
love  Alice  just  the  same  if  she  was  ever  so  scratchy." 

"So  should  I.  But  you  ought  to  consider  the  poor  girl  herself. 
A.lice-f or-short !    Just  think!" 

"Be  easy,  old  man.  Nobody's  going  to  be  a  nutmeg-grater.  It's 
ouly  one  of  your  panics  about  the  boy." 

From  which  it  would  appear  that  Charley  is  often  in  panics 
about  his  boy.  He  seems  to  accept  his  sister's  decision  on  this 
point,  as  on  others,  but  nothing  alters  the  resolute  sadness  of  his 
face;  it  is  consistently  melancholy,  without  a  trace  of  the  lachry- 
mose. It  becomes  very  absent  as  he  sits  in  the  big  armchair, 
with  Peggy  ruffling  his  head  as  of  old.  She  does  not  mean  to 
hurry  him  to  speak  of  the  death — she  knows  he  will  in  his  own 
time.  When  that  comes,  he  says  as  though  there  had  been  a  conver- 
sation to  continue :  "No !  I've  heard  no  details — I  only  know  what 
the  advertisement  tells — it's  all  over  now."  He  seemed  to  put  it 
away  as  though  he  said:  "Now  we  have  spoken  of  it,  and  that's 
enough" — but  the  thought  was  on  him  that  her  death  must  surely 
bring  revival  of  blame  for  her,  and  he  was  all  on  the  alert  to  fore- 
stall it. 

"It  was  all  my  fault.  Peg,"  he  says,  and  he  is  only  reaffirming  an 
old  position.  "It  had  all  come  to  an  end,  and  it  was  my  obstinacy 
brought  it  all  on  again — I  was  really  never  the  husband  for  her." 

Peggy's  lips  want  to  say,  "Which  of  the  other  two,  or  three,  was  ?" 
but  she  keeps  them  still,  and  says  nothing,  at  least  to  that  effect. 
All  she  says  is:  "It  was  a  mistake,  Charley  dear,  but  it's  all  over 
now."  As  his  last  words  were  to  the  same  effect,  he  cannot  take 
any  exception  to  it. 


ALICE-FOK-SHOKT  807 

'^Pierre  recollects  her  after  a  fashion,"  said  he,  his  mind  landing, 
as  it  were,  on  an  island  where  he  knew  his  sister's  had  already 
arrived.  "He  was  five  years  old — only  a  year  younger  than  Alice 
was."  Alice  thus  referred  to,  without  further  description,  means 
Alice  at  the  time  of  her  first  occurrence;  in  fact,  as  a  substantive 
that  describes  that  occurrence :  "But  then  boys  are  so  much  younger 
than  girls ;  I'm  not  altogether  sorry  he  remembers  her  so  little." 

Peggy  is  bound  to  talk  to  her  brother  about  his  wife's  death,  but 
is  also  tongue-tied  on  the  subject,  and  wants  to  help  him  to  fabri- 
cate extenuation  of  her  conduct;  as  she  can  imagine  none,  least 
of  all  by  laying  blame  at  his  door,  she  has  to  be  silent.  She  would 
like,  nevertheless,  to  soften  her  silence,  the  meaning  of  which  she 
knows  he  knows.  She  has  slight  propensities  towards  moral  tags, 
true  in  themselves,  but  frayed  with  overmuch  use.  She  gives 
them  up  though,  and  cannot  even  manage  the  most  trenchant  of 
all  known  words  to  the  point;  for  she  believes  in  her  heart  that  in 
this  very  popular  department  of  human  offence,  her  brother  is  as 
much  "without  sin"  as  she  herself  is.  She  may  be  mistaken — 
very  likely  is,  we  think  we  hear  you  say,  if  you  are  human — but 
what  do  we  know?  So  she  does  not  suggest  that  she  and  Charley 
should  make  a  merit  of  not  casting  stones,  and  still  clings  to  silence 
against  her  will. 

He  knows  why,  and  leaves  it  alone,  but  the  very  silence  works 
upon  them  both,  and  when  Peggy  breaks  it  at  last  with,  "Oh! 
Charley — Charley  darling,"  and  a  protest  against  a  sob  in  her 
voice,  he  lets  the  head  she  draws  to  her  sink  on  her  bosom,  and 
makes  no  more  ado,  but  cries  as  a  child  cries  when  it  seeks  con- 
cealment for  its  tears.  So  they  remain,  and  dwell  upon  the  spoiled 
past.  And  so  Rupert  would  have  found  them,  only  that  when  Peggy 
hears  him,  without,  she  gets  up  from  Charley  and  goes  to  meet 
him,  and  Charles  thinks  he  hears,  or  thinks  he  might  have  heard 
had  he  listened,  the  words:  "And  a  good  riddance,  too!"  at  the 
end  of  a  communication  crossed  by  grunts,  for  the  great  physician 
doesn't  soften  his  speech  except  for  occasion  shown. 

The  appearance  of  his  brother-in-law,  and  the  telling  him  about 
the  boy,  reminded  Charles  that  he  ought  to  get  back  home.  He 
had  forgotten  about  the  germs,  although  they  were,  no  doubt,  just 
as  much  to  the  fore  as  ever.  "I'll  run  you  round  and  have  a  look 
at  the  kid,"  said  Sir  Rupert,  and  influenced  his  carriage,  through 
the  agency  of  Handsworth,  to  stop  and  take  them.  Five  minutes 
more  chat-margin  and  twelve  minutes  trot  found  them  at  the  door 
of  Charles'  domicile  in  Acacia  Road,  St.  John's  Wood,  with  Alice 
coming  out  on  the  balcony  to  see  who  the  carriage  was.    If  you  had 


308  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

passed  with  a  friend  at  that  moment,  you  would  probably  have 
said:  "You  didn't  see  that  very  pretty  woman  in  the  balcony  just 
now  ?"  And  he  would  have  replied :  "No,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?" 
And  you  would  have  felt  that  perhaps  it  was  because  Alice's  was 
a  sort  of  beauty  you  took  pleasure  in  exaggerating,  but  didn't 
want  to  be  convicted  on.  So,  feeling  you  had  got  your  friend  in 
a  corner,  you  would  have  condoled  with  him  on  his  loss. 

However,  Alice  really  did  look  very  pretty  on  the  balcony;  sun- 
set light  in  May  is  an  improvement  to  all  of  us,  and  you  felt  that 
when  it  died  away,  there  would  still  be  much  to  be  said  for  her; 
but  she  didn't  wait  to  see,  for  she  came  downstairs  and  took  the 
wind  out  of  Charles'  latch-key's  sail,  by  opening  the  door  from 
inside. 

Charles  had  a  disappointment  in  store  for  him.  Peggy's  cheer- 
ful confidence  had  made  him  set  his  mind  on  being  pooh-poohed 
and  called  an  alarmist.  Alice,  on  the  contrary,  was  what  is  called 
encouraging.  This  means  confession  that  something  is  afoot  which 
we  have  to  be  encouraged  about.  Dr.  Payne  had  been  again  (which 
was  bad  enough  in  itself),  and  had  said  we  were  not  to  be  the  least 
uneasy,  because  we  shouldn't  Imow  what  it  was  till  this  time  to- 
morrow at  least.  Meanwhile  we  were  approaching  smallpox  by  a 
process  of  elimination,  Dr.  Payne  having  just  deprived  us  of 
diseases,  which  we  had  some  hopes  of,  by  disallowing  their  principal 
symptoms ;  as,  for  instance,  who  ever  heai-d  of  measles  with  no  run- 
ning at  the  eyes?  We  had  been  sanguine  about  measles — now  we 
had  to  give  it  up.  This  was  the  substance  of  Alice's  report  of  prog- 
ress on  the  way  up  to  the  patient's  bedroom. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later.  Sir  Rupert  was  departing  from  the 
door  with:  "Remember!  all  I  say  is  that  possibly  it  isn't."  And 
with  that  small  consolation,  Alice  and  Charles  went  back,  griev- 
ously downcast,  into  the  house  to  do  what  little  might  be  done  to 
allay  fever  that  meant  to  have  its  way,  and  to  keep  a  watchful  eye 
for  the  arrival  of  that  most  unwelcome  guest,  the  cutaneous  erup- 
tion that  was  to  christen  the  disorder.  Meanwhile,  Pierre,  a  little 
chap  between  eleven  and  twelve,  had  become  something  red-hot,  the 
identity  of  which  he  was  himself  doubtful  of,  but  of  which  he  knew 
this  for  certain,  that  he  had  a  pain  in  its  back,  or  it  had  a  pain  in 
his.  For  he  could  not  tell  which  was  which,  Pierre  or  the  red-hot 
thing ;  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  days,  for  all  Sir  Rupert  had  said 
that  possibly  it  wasn't,  it  was  perfectly  clear  that  it  was,  and  the 
fever  raged  and  would  not  be  comforted. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

HOW  CHARLES  AND  MRS.  GAMP  HAD  A  CLASSICAL  CABMAN,  AND  HOW 
THEY  ENJOYED  THE  BALCONY  IN  TH|  MOONLIGHT.  HOW  CHARLES 
WAS  A  BAD  ARTIST,  AND  ALICE  SHOWED  HER  LOVE-LETTERS 

When  Lady  Johnson  said  Alice  always  got  her  own  way  with 
Charles,  she  spoke  no  more  than  the  truth.  In  the  controversy 
that  followed  Sir  Rupert's  departure,  as  to  whether  Alice  should 
stay  or  go,  Charles  hadn't  a  chance. 

"What's  the  use  of  training  for  a  nurse  for  two  years  if  one 
isn't  to  nurse  a  case  that  turns  up  providentially,  to  keep  one's 
hand  in?  Answer  me  that,  Mr.  Charley  dear!  And  a  nice  uncle 
you'll  look,  if  I  go  back  now  and  give  it  to  Phillips  and  Alee." 
This  last  was  the  proper  distinction-name  of  the  little  Alice — ^her 
**i"  was  omitted  for  clearness.  Phillips's  real  name  was  Phyllis. 
"You  know  quite  well,  Mr.  Charley,"  Alice  continued,  "that  if  I 
had  my  white  dress  and  big  ribbons  under  my  chin  and  my  blue 
cloak  and  bonnet,  you  would  think  I  was  bacillus-proof." 

So  Alice  got  her  own  way;  she  turned  every  one  out  of  the  house 
except  the  cook  and  its  master,  and  only  acquiesced  in  an  auxiliary 
under  extreme  pressure.  This  functionary  had  a  bacillus-proof 
uniform  of  the  correctest  type.  But  she  had  soon  to  be  exchanged 
for  another  because  the  patient  complained  that  in  the  smallest 
hours  of  the  morning,  when  he  asked  for  drink,  she  held  the  cup 
near  his  lips,  then  drew  it  away,  to  tantalise  him.  Was  this  fever, 
or  was  it  true  ?  Who  could  tell  ?  Anyhow,  an  exchange  was  effected, 
and  a  new  one  relieved  guard  at  intervals.  She  was  a  sister  of  St. 
Bridget  and  a  daughter  of  a  jeweller  in  Bond  Street,  and  Alice 
took  kindly  to  her  and  made  a  good  deal  of  acquaintance — in 
fact,  she  often  allowed  a  needless  inroad  on  what  might  have  been 
hours  of  sleep  in  order  to  get  a  good  chat  with  Sister  Eulalie, 
chiefly  about  that  interesting  topic,  the  supernatural.  She  even 
went  the  length  of  turning  tables  with  her  in  the  silence  of  the 
night. 

Now,  even  without  the  added  stimulus  of  ghosts  and  spirits, 
there  is  a  fascination  in  the  companionship  of  the  sick-room.  No- 
where is  intercourse  more  social — all  formality  is  swept  away, 

309 


310  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

responsibility  is  defined,  and  refreshments  are  always  justifiable; 
yet  never  de  rigueur  if  unwelcome.  If  we  are  inclined  to  be  silent, 
there  is  always  the  excuse  that  the  patient  is  getting  to  sleep,  but 
if  we  wish  to  talk,  who  can  prevent  us?  And  if  we  do  chance  to 
feel  that  we  have  been  making  too  much  noise,  we  can  always 
make  up  for  it  by  a  short  interlude  of  going  on  tip-toe,  and  saying 
something  inaudible  to  show  how  tight  we  are  holding  our  tongues. 
In  fact,  we  have  only  to  consider  the  patient  sufficiently  to  ensure 
the  luxury  of  a  clear  conscience,  and  we  can  enjoy  ourselves 
thoroughly. 

However,  as  you  say,  that  is  perhaps  a  malicious  and  cynical  way 
of  putting  it.  But  be  easy!  Poor  Pierre  never  was  a  penny  the 
worse  from  any  neglect  of  his  nurses.  The  most  beautiful  com- 
munications of  the  table  would  be  ruthlessly  sacrificed  the  instant 
either  nurse  heard  the  patient  move,  or  thought  she  did.  Alice 
and  Sister  Eulalie  enjoyed  the  protection  of  the  Red  Cross  in  the 
Battle  of  Life,  but  did  their  duty  by  the  casualty  they  had  in 
charge. 

"We've  christened  ourselves  Mrs.  Gamp  and  Mrs.  Prig,"  said 
Alice  after  reporting  to  Charles  the  events  of  his  absence  and  the 
state  of  the  patient.  More  than  a  fortnight  had  passed,  and  the 
worst  was  over.  No  one  had  been  allowed  in  the  house  but  Charles 
and  the  doctor — the  primordial  one.  Sir  Rupert  being  quite  un- 
necessary. Charles  had  gone  every  day  to  his  Studio,  avoiding  his 
fellow-man,  and  rushing  upstairs  surrounded  by  mental  pictures 
of  germs  like  a  swarm  of  bees,  only  smaller,  and  then  locking  hia 
door  to  keep  the  swarm  in  and  his  fellow-man  out.  This  conduct 
would  hardly  have  passed  muster  nowadays,  but  in  those  years  peo- 
ple had  not  been  brought  under  control.  At  this  moment  of  the 
story  he  was  scheming  in  his  mind  to  take  Alice  out  in  a  hansom, 
smallpox  or  no — it  was  such  a  glorious  evening,  and  the  pooi 
girl  had  really  hardly  been  out. 

"Mrs.  Gamp  and  Mrs.  Prig  didn't  turn  tables,"  said  Charles, 
"However,  when  Mrs.  Gamp  comes,  or  Mrs.  Prig,  whichever  she 
is,  you  and  me.  Miss  Kavanagh  dearest,  are  going  for  ever-such-a- 
long  drive  in  a  cab — yes,  we  are !  And  you're  going  to  sit  up  on  the 
seat  beside  me  and  look  over  the  door.  Do  you  recollect  that,  Alice, 
I  wonder?" 

"I  remember.  Only  my  feet  didn't  touch  the  ground  then.  But 
ought  we  to  ride  in  a  cab  ?" 

"We  can  call  the  driver's  attention  to  the  germs."  Charles  says 
this  with  much  of  his  old  manner.  "Or  we  can  have  the  cab 
sterilised  after.     I'll  tell  him,  anyhow.     There's  Mrs.  Prig — cut 


ALICE-FOK-SHOKT  SM 

along,  Alice — get  your  bonnet  on."  And  as  Mrs.  Prig  comes  in  to 
relieve  guard,  Alice  disappears  to  get  ready.  "We're  getting  on 
beautifully,  Mr.  Heath,"  says  Mrs.  Prig,  "and  if  only  there  are  no 
complications " 

"I  can't  say  Fve  ever  seen  him  look  worse  than  he  does  to-day," 
says  Charles,  rather  dejectedly.  But  the  nurse  goes  into  the  sick- 
room, at  the  door  of  which  they  are  standing,  and  her  voice  comes 
out  in  cheerful  confirmation  of  her  opinion.  "Looks  don't  count, 
you  know,"  she  says,  and  Charles  feels  happier. 

Just  as  Alice  and  he  are  departing,  Mrs.  Prig  calls  out  from  the 
landing  above :  "Oh,  Miss  Kavanagh,  I  was  forgetting  to  tell  you — 
my  father  knew  about  the  stone;  he  says  it's  a  Jacinth.  I've 
brought  it  back  all  safe.  Here  it  is !  You  take  it."  And  comes  a 
few  steps  down  to  transfer  a  ring  from  her  finger  to  Alice's. 

Charles  chose  a  particularly  showy  Hansom  with  a  spirited  horse, 
and  got  Alice  and  himself  in.  She  thought  he  was  going  to  forget 
the  caution  he  had  contemplated  to  the  cabman,  but  she  was 
mistaken. 

"This  young  lady  and  myself,'*  said  he,  through  the  trapdoor, 
pushed  up  by  his  stick-point,  to  the  driver,  "are  from  the  Smallpox 
Hospital.    Any  objection?" 

"None  whatever.  Sir.  Convalescent,  I  presume?"  Thus  the 
Cabby  replied,  with  immovable  gravity,  and  Alice  felt  that  even 
now  she  had  hardly  gauged  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  London 
cabman's  mind.    "Well,"  said  Charles,  "I  did  my  duty,  anyhow !" 

"Which  way  did  you  tell  him  to  go  ?" 

"Didn't  tell  him  any  way — I'll  show  him  with  my  stick.  Let's 
go  along  Pinchley  Road  and  round  Hampstead,"  which  accordingly 
they  set  out  to  do. 

"What  was  it  Mrs.  Prig  said  about  a  stone  ?"  asked  Charles  when 
they  had  settled  down  to  chat. 

"Why,  don't  you  recollect  my  old  ring — the  one  there  was  that 
funny  story  about?" 

"Surely.  The  old  ring — ^what  that  poor  mother  of  yours  found 
in  Jeff's  jug.  I  wonder  whether  Jeff  sold  the  old  jug.  And  you 
were  bringing  the  beer  from  the  pub.    Poor  little  Alice !" 

"It  all  seems  now  like  a  strange  old  dream,"  says  Alice.  "Oh, 
so  long  ago!  Only  that  time  I  went  over  the  cliff  seems  like 
the  other  day;  and  it  was  only  just  after  when  all's  said  and 
done." 

"Is  all  said  and  done?  But  go  on  telling  about  Mrs.  Prig  and 
the  stone." 

"Wh;^ — Sister  Eulalie  says — (oh,  graciotisl  that  child  will  be 


312  ALICE-rOK-SHORT 

run  over — no,  he's  all  right!) — Sister  Eulalie  says  about  that  stone 
—you  remember  the  stone  we  couldn't  find  the  name  of ?" 

"I  remember  there  was  a  stone.  And  I  remember  one  evening 
before  the  fire  in  the  back  drawing-room  at  the  Gardens,  me  and 
Peggy  and  Rupert  trying  to  make  it  spell  Phyllis.  We  wanted 
to  tack  it  on  to  the  ghost  at  No.  40.    You  saw  the  ghost,  Alice  ?" 

"I  said  I  saw  a  lady  on  the  stairs,  didn't  I?  I  wonder  what  I 
did  see!" 

"You  seem  a  very  weak-kneed  witness.  Miss  Kavanagh.  Not 
much  to  be  elicited  from  you.  But  let's  see  what  the  Jacinth  will 
do  for  us.  Don't  put  your  glove  over  it."  For  Alice  is  pulling  away 
at  a  tight  glove  that  has  been  refusing  to  come  on  since  they 
started.  She  runs  it  back  as  far  as  the  ring,  for  inspection: 
Charles  examines  it. 

"I  recollect  now,"  he  says;  "but  the  Jacinth  comes  after  the  P, 
and  that's  no  use  at  all.  I  wish  it  was  after  the  L,  that  would  give 
us  a  lift,  because  J  is  I." 

"Pm  sure  that  thing  after  the  L  isn't  a  stone  at  all.  It's  a  little 
bit  of  ivory;  that  would  do,  you  know." 

"Peggy  wanted  the  two  L's  to  be  Lapis-lazuli. — Well !  that  looks 
right — that  is  a  bit  of  Lapis-lazuli."  Both  reflected  over  the 
ring  Alice  held  out  for  inspection  over  the  folding  doors  of  the 
cab. 

"It  does  look  like  Phyllis — doesn't  it,  Alice?  If  only  Jacinth 
began  with  an  H  we  should  be  almost  quite  complete." 

The  little  incident  that  followed  was  always  spoken  of  after- 
wards by  Charles  and  Alice  as,  par  excellence,  the  surprise  of  their 
lives,  for  a  voice  came  from  above,  through  the  little  trap-door — 
the  voice  of  the  cabman,  but  not  sounding  at  all  like  the  voice  of  a 
real  cabman. 

"I  can  understand  it.  Sir,  if  you'll  excuse  the  interruption — 
(I've  got  my  eye  on  the  horse.  You  needn't  be  uneasy) — Jacinth  is 
Hyacinth — Hyacinth  begins  with  an  H."  But  the  horse  was  not 
prepared  to  allow  his  driver  such  liberty,  and  shied,  and  had  to  be 
calmed  down  with  lashing  and  disparagement,  which  seemed  good 
for  his  nervous  system.  He  settled  into  an  easy  amble,  after  one 
or  two  snorts  and  head-flings.    The  driver  resumed: 

"He'll  be  all  right  now.  You'll  excuse  me,  but  you  see  I  was 
just  looking  through  to  mention  that  the  road  was  up  in  front, 
and  I  heard  you  say  Jacinth  didn't  begin  with  an  H.  You'll 
excuse  me?"  Both,  who  had  been  laughing  at  the  oddity  of  the 
whole  thing,  said  at  once :  "Certainly — ^you're  quite  right" ;  and  the 
cabman  added :  "It  was  no  use  going  on  and  having  to  come  back — 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  313 

I'll  turn  off  this  next  turn,  if  you've  no  objection";  to  which 
Charles  assented,  "Go  anywhere  round  by  Hampstead,  for  a  drive," 
he  said. 

"But — what  a  strange  cabby!"  said  Alice,  and  again  burst  out 
laughing.  It  seemed  too  ridiculous  that  this  puzzle  of  the  stone 
should  be  solved  after  all  these  years  by  an  occasional  cabman, 
speaking  through  a  hole  in  his  own  roof.  It  was  perfectly  clear 
though  (and  Charles  felt  quite  ashamed  of  not  having  solved  the 
mystery  before)  that  Phyllis  was  spelled  by  the  initials  of  the  ring- 
stones  ;  only  that  H  and  Y  were  supplied  by  one  stone,  and  both  L's 
by  another.  But  interest  in  the  discovery  was,  for  the  moment, 
superseded  by  the  way  it  had  come  about.  It  really  had  to  be 
accounted  for;  it  was  impossible  to  accept  such  a  phenomenon 
without  explanation. 

"Shall  I  shout  up  through  the  hole  to  him,  and  ask  him  if  he's  a 
Senior  Classic,  or  what?" 

"I  don't  know  what  one  ought  to  do,"  said  Alice.  "Some  expla- 
nation is  necessary."  And  Charles  said,  "We  can't  let  it  alone — ■ 
impossible." 

The  explanation  came,  but  not  till  the  drive  was  over,  and  all 
three  were  at  the  street-door  of  Charley's  house.  Then,  as  Charles 
handed  the  cabman  an  extravagant  fare,  to  avoid  complications,  he 
asked  him  point-blank :  "How  came  you  to  know  about  Jacinth  and 
Hyacinth?"  Alice  stood  looking  at  him  and  wondering  what  he 
would  answer. 

"I  am  not  the  only  man  that  has  failed  in  life,"  he  said;  "it  was 
my  own  fault." 

And  that  was  all!  But  it  seemed  enough.  He  slipped  the  fare 
into  his  pocket  uncounted,  remounted  his  box,  and  rode  away. 
Alice  ran  quickly  upstairs,  to  relieve  guard:  Charles  followed 
slowly,  his  face  sadder  and  more  thoughtful  than  ever. 

"We've  had  such  a  funny  adventure."  Thus  Alice  to  Sister 
Eulalie,  and  she  gave  an  account  of  the  cabman.  Not  having  seen 
him,  the  nurse  was  less  interested  in  his  antecedents  than  in  the 
confirmation  of  the  identity  of  the  stone.  This  was  a  personal 
matter;  after  her  father's  opinion  she  felt  it  was  in  the  family. 
But  Charles  was  rather  silent,  and  said  nothing  further  about  it 
till  quite  late  in  the  evening,  wh^n  the  patient  had  gone  off  to 
sleep  after  a  visit  from  the  doctor.  Progress  was  satisfactory,  and 
chat  was  possible  till  one  or  the  other  of  the  guardians  should  go 
away  to  rest.  It  was  a  beautiful  warm,  early  summer  night, 
and  they  could  sit  out  on  the  balcony,  within  easy  hearing  of  the 
patient,  should  he  wake. 


314  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

These  two  were  necessarily  isolated  from  the  world  without,  and 
thrown,  little  loth,  on  one  another's  society.  Theirs  was  one  of 
those  cases,  rare  enough,  of  a  relation  between  two  of  their  age  and 
sex  into  which  no  element  of  disquiet  could  enter;  yet  which  was 
not  the  relation  of  father  and  daughter,  nor  of  brother  and  sister. 
Alice  was  not  changed,  in  the  eyes  of  Charles,  from  the  Alice  he 
had  picked  up  off  the  stones  that  Pussy  broke  the  saucer  on,  and 
had  wrapped  up  in  his  coat.  He  himself  was,  to  her,  simply  the 
great  and  wondrous  good  that  had  come  suddenly  down  from  the 
first  floor  to  the  basement  to  raise  her  up  from  what  she  had  since 
learned  to  know  was  Hell,  but  which  had  till  then  been  merely 
a  lot — one  of  those  things,  or  states,  the  Sunday-school  teacher  had 
given  her  to  understand  it  was  sinful  to  repine  at.  So  Alice,  being 
anxious  to  oblige  her  Maker,  had  done  all  that  in  her  lay  to  be 
grateful  to  him  for  short  commons,  underground  darkness,  a 
father  peevish  at  the  best,  and  a  mother  half -drunk  at  the  worst, 
but  improving  perceptibly  as  she  became  insensible.  Still,  she 
found  her  task  of  gratitude  a  much  lighter  one  when  there  was 
"vouchsafed"  to  her — as  she  understood  had  occurred  in  the  forer 
going  instances — an  Angel  in  spectacles,  who  had  picked  her  up 
and  wafted  her  away  to  an  earthly  Paradise  of  warmth  and  light 
and  love;  a  Paradise  that  had  since  become  her  very  own.  It  had 
never  crossed  Alice's  mind  that  had  she  not  been  the  dear  little 
maiden  she  was,  she  would  never  have  clung  to  that  spray,  but 
would  have  had  to  pass  out  into  another  wilderness — better  than 
her  first,  and  protected;  but  still,  not  the  haven  of  calm  waters 
and  balmy  winds  her  memory  now  knew  as  Hyde  Park  Gardens.  A 
hint  that  she  herself  had  helped  the  end,  that  her  merits  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  it,  would  have  seemed  to  her  blasphemy  against 
Mr.  Charley.  He  was  an  Avatar  that  had  been  vouchsafed  and 
was  being  vouchsafed  to  her ;  and  to  suppose  that  her  personal  iden- 
tity had  made  his  benevolence  an  easy  one  would  have  made  her 
Beem  to  herself  undeserving  of  having  anything  further  vouchr 
safed,  now  or  henceforward.  On  which  account  when  the  alarm 
came  that  Pierre  had  smallpox  Alice  did  forthwith  what  she  would 
have  done  equally  had  it  been  Bubonic  Plague,  and  went  straight 
away  to  nurse  him.  It  has  transpired  that  she  had  had  two  years' 
training  as  a  nurse,  so  the  thing  was  a  matter  of  course.  He  was 
Mr.  Charley's  boy,  and  there  was  an  end  of  it. 

We  may  speculate,  from  these  data,  about  what  these  two  were  to 
one  another,  and  to  themselves,  as  they  sat  out  on  the  balcony  in 
the  sweet  summer  night,  enjoying,  as  Charles  put  it,  the  coolth  of 
the  warmth.     The  smoke  of  his  meerschaum  pipe — for  he  still 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  315 

smoked  a  meerschaum  with  a  long  stem,  and  Latakia — curled  up 
in  the  still  air,  and  the  reflection  of  a  backward  half -moon,  only- 
just  climbing  above  the  purple  haze  of  an  excusable  minimum  of 
London  fog,  glared  in  his  spectacles  as  he  looked  through  them 
at  the  girl  opposite;  perhaps  we  should  write  the  woman  oppo- 
site, for  Alice  was  on  the  way  to  twenty-four,  if  you  please. 
But  he  saw  the  girl  she  had  been  to  him  all  along — ^he  merely 
looked  on  her  womanhood  as  a  plaguy  intrusion  that  had 
been  fussing  round  these  five  years  past  and  that  nobody  had 
wanted — least  of  all  himself !  Why  could  she  not  stop  a  baby,  and 
be  hanged  to  her!  Twen ty -three !  Just  fancy — Alice-f or-short ! 
That  expresses  how  he  thought  of  her  as  near  as  we  can  put  it.  And 
all  the  while  she  was  a  woman  grown,  mature  of  form  and  well- 
established,  and  with  all  her  share  of  beauty,  and  more  than  her 
share  of  self-reliance  and  character.  And  he  was  clinging  to  her 
babyhood,  as  a  father  clings  to  that  of  his  favourite  daughter. 

And  how  did  he  picture  himself  to  himself,  this  man,  as  he  sat 
there  silently  smoking  in  the  moonlight,  watching  her  and  think- 
ing of  his  own  spoiled  past,  and  unhappy  life;  of  his  vague  and 
ill-directed  efforts  in  an  art  he  was  never  born  to  practise;  of  his 
misplaced,  mistaken,  misfeatured  love  for  the  woman  his  intense 
chivalry  still  refused  to  thinly  of  as  entirely  bad ;  and  of  the  many 
things  that,  but  for  this  and  but  for  that,  might  have  been  and  were 
not  ?  His  image  of  himself  was  that  of  an  old  man,  weary  -with 
self-reproach  and  loneliness  of  heart,  ready  for  confession  and 
repentance,  if  such  were  possible,  but  seeing  no  outlet  for  either. 
He  had  chosen  his  life,  and  must  go  on  to  the  end;  it  was  a  gar- 
den where  no  growth  could  be;  where  no  seed  had  been  sown  in 
its  season;  where  no  stock  had  been  grafted  with  a  right  scion. 
The  plantain  was  in  the  turf,  and  the  wire-worm  in  the  flower-beds ; 
and  one  day  the  tap-roots  of  the  creeping  weed  would  be  over  all, 
and  the  gardener  would  still  be  there,  older  still,  sadder  still,  and 
saying  in  his  heart:  "This  is  what  is  left  of  the  rose-tree  I  planted 
years  ago — this  was  the  vine,  and  this  the  fig.  And  when  the  young 
leaves  came  in  their  first  spring,  their  first  communion  with  the  sun 
and  showers,  I  dreamed  of  the  bloom  and  the  fruit  that  were  to  be, 
and  never  doubted  of  their  fulness.    And  see  them  now !" 

Alice  knew  Mr.  Charley  was  unhappy  about  his  profession,  but 
did  not  know  how  much.  She  allowed  herself  a  measure  of  self- 
deception  about  his  status,  and  when  Mr.  Jerrythought  A.  E.  A.  af- 
firmed that:  "'Eath  had  seized  some  aspects  of  Nature  that  every- 
one else  had  overlooked"  she  really  believed  that  his  words  meant 
something,  and  that  Mr.  Charley  had  a  strange  superior  inner  life 


316  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

in  his  Art.  She  heard  other  friendly  voices  speak  of  the  quality 
and  tone  that  distinguished  it,  and  longed  to  be  able  to  see  them 
herself — ^but  alas! — unsuccessfully.  So  she  anchored  her  ship  to 
the  rock  of  her  own  incapacity,  and  trusted  that  it  was  this  alone 
that  postponed  her  reaching  a  port  of  belief  in  his  powers  as  an 
Artist. 

As  to  the  way  in  which  she,  for  her  part,  thought  of  herself  in 
her  relation  to  him,  it  was  simple,  straightforward,  intelligible. 
She  was  something  he  was  welcome  to,  if  it  was  possible  or  con- 
ceivable that  it  should  bring  him  any  earthly  advantage.  What  can 
I  do  for  poor  Mr.  Charley?  This  was  the  question  she  asked  her- 
self again  and  again.  If  it  had  been  clear  to  her  that  the  sacrifice 
of  her  right  hand  would  have  done  him  any  mortal  good,  she  would 
simply  have  stretched  it  out  and  said:  "Cut  away!"  If  it  could 
have  been  shown  by  some  witch  that  two  blue  eyes  alone  were 
wanting  to  complete  a  caldron  from  which  Mr.  Charley's  happiness 
would  spring,  she  would  have  cried  out  at  once  to  that  witch: 
"Take  this  pair  of  mine,  and  look  sharp  about  it.  What  are  you 
hesitating  for?"  For  any  decent  witch  would  have  hesitated.  To 
say  that  Alice  had  faced,  without  a  shudder,  the  risk  of  being 
turned  into  a  nutmeg-grater  by  smallpox  for  Charles's  sake,  would 
be  a  false  way  of  stating  a  true  thing.  For  Alice  had  never  waited 
to  picture  to  herself  the  consequences  of  her  action.  Her  mind 
ignored  the  risks  altogether,  as  things  irrelevant  where  Mr, 
Charley  was  concerned;  she  never  even  condescended  to  say, 
"Bother  them!" 

So  now,  if  we  were  to  tell  the  honest  truth  about  why  the  two 
blue  eyes  (which  fortunately  no  witch  was  making  an  offer  for) 
were  looking  rather  happily  this  evening  at  Charles's  grave,  absent 
face,  through  the  floating  clouds  of  his  Latakia,  we  should  have 
to  record  that  Alice  was  thinking  of  the  death  of  her  patient's 
mother  in  its  aspect  of  a  release  to  his  father.  She  was  really  say- 
ing to  herself:  "Now  Mr.  Charley  can  marry  Lady  Anstruther 
Paston-Forbes  and  nobody  find  fault."  This  lady,  an  enormously 
rich  widow  of  great  beauty  and  accomplishments,  was  supposed 
by  Peggy  and  Alice  to  have  a  fascination  for  Charles;  perhaps 
she  had,  only  so  far  as  we  know  she  does  not  come  into  this  story, 
except  as  a  thought  in  Alice's  mind  as  she  sits  there  gazing  at 
Charles  and  his  smoke,  and  herself  (we  suppose  we  ought  to  regret 
to  say)  lawlessly  smoking  a  cigarette.  But  she  was  well  behind 
the  balcony  parapet  and  invisible  to  the  public,  so  forgive  her  I 
Now  it  is  time  to  let  them  talk  a  little. 
.    "I  knew  that  cabman  to-day,  Alice — recollected  him  since  1" 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  *317 

^Tou  knew  him !  Oh  dear !  What  a  pity  you  didn't  stop  hinu 
I'm  so  sorry," 

"I'm  not.  It  was  an  ugly  story."  Charles  paused ;  he  was  almost 
sorry  he  had  said  it,  but,  however,  Alice  wouldn't  ask  for  the 
story,  as  he  had  said  it  was  ugly;  or  would  be  satisfied  with  guess- 
ing.    He  continued: 

"He  and  I  were  at  Harrow  together;  he  went  to  Cambridge  and 
distinguished  himself — took  a  good  place  in  Mathematics  and  a 
stiU  better  one  in  Classics — I  heard  of  it  all  afterwards.  He — well, 
he  disgraced  himself  and  was  ruined." 

"Oh,  poor  fellow!    Quite  hopelessly?" 

"Quite  hopelessly."  The  pity  in  the  blue  eyes  would  have  sought 
for  more  information,  but  there  is  something  in  Charles's  voice 
which  closes  the  door  on  this  man's  misdeed,  and  Alice  asks 
no  further.  Charles  goes  on  to  tell  what  he  will,  and  no 
more. 

"He  was  sent  to  penal  servitude — I  forget  for  how  long.  He  had 
influential  friends,  and  efforts  were  made  to  get  him  off  on  the 
score  of  insanity;  but  a  ruthless  judge  told  the  Jury,  which  the 
prisoner  had  no  influential  friends  on,  that  no  man  was  insane  in 
a  legal  sense  when  he  was  perfectly  conscious  of  his  own  actions. 
He  said :  'No  doubt,  Grentlemen,  there  is  a  sense  in  which  Cain  was 
insane  when  he  killed  Abel,  but  had  he  been  tried  in  this  Court, 
I  should  have  summed  up  against  him.'  So  poor  Denzil  was 
packed  off  to  gaol  without  benefit  of  Clergy.  He  was  in  the 
Church,  by  the  way.  Edward  Thwaites  Denzil — that  was  his 
name." 

"What  a  shocking  story !  It  seems  so  impossible ;  he  looked  a  nice 
man." 

"A  very  nice  man.  A  good  man,  too,  I  dare  say — as  good  as 
another  man,  that  is.  But  he'd  been  pitchforked  into  a  profession 
he  had  no  business  with." 

Charles's  voice,  on  his  last  three  words,  had  a  sense  of  weariness, 
or  pain,  in  it.  Alice  knew  its  cause,  and  her  mind  lost  touch  with 
the  story  of  the  cabman,  interesting  though  it  was,  and  went  solely 
to  join  her  companion  in  his  thought  of  his  own  life.  He  took 
this  brain-wave  for  granted,  and  went  on  as  though  it  had  really 
become  speech: 

"I  wasn't  pitchforked  into  mine.  It  was  all  my  own  doing. 
Poor  Denzil  was  jammed  into  the  Church  by  his  family.  If  he  had 
been  made  a  soldier  of  he  would  have  been  all  right — or  a  states- 
man, or  a  lawyer,  or  anything  to  keep  him  out  of  mischief " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Charley  dear,  what  a  shame  1    I  won't  sit  and  listen  to 


318  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

you,  so  there !  You  never  lose  a  chance  of  saying  something  spite- 
ful about  the  poor  parsons." 

"Why  should  I?  Only  this  time  I  didn't  mean  to  be  spiteful. 
On  the  contrary  I  was  complimenting  them  for  remaining  decent 
under  their  circumstances.    You  know  the  story  of  the  Alchemist  V 

"Yes — ^no! — go  on." 

"The  Alchemist  who  contracted  to  turn  copper  into  gold?  He 
made  his  admirers  subscribe  the  copper,  then  assembled  them  to- 
gether to  see  the  magic  transmutation ;  but  he  gave  them  a  caution 
— a  necessary  condition  to  observe.  On  no  account  was  any  one  to 
think  of  a  blue  monkey.  The  copper  vanished  from  the  crucible, 
but  no  gold  came  in  its  place!  The  sorcerer  taxed  the  spectators 
with  thinking  of  blue  monkeys,  and  one  and  all  admitted  they  had 
thought  of  nothing  else." 

"What's  the  moral,  Teachy-Weachy  ?" 

"Clear  enough.  Folk  that  spend  their  lives  professionally  shun- 
ning Evil  can't  think  of  anything  else.  The  blue  monkey  in  the 
case  of  a  parson  is  our  dear  old  friend  the  Devil." — But  Charles 
pulled  up  short  in  his  homily;  he  didn't  want  to  have  to  explain 
Mr.  Thwaites  Denzil's  blue  monkey  in  full.  The  nearest  road 
away  from  the  unhappy  cabby  led  back  to  the  parallel  about 
himself. 

"Anyhow,  Alice  dear,  the  poor  beggar  was  right  when  he  said  he 
wasn't  the  only  man  that  had  failed  in  Life."  Alice  threw  away 
the  end  of  the  lawless  cigarette,  and  sat  forward  with  her  elbows 
on  her  knees,  and  her  face  resting  in  her  hands,  looking  up  at 
Charles. 

"You  are  thinking  of  yourself,"  she  said.  It  was  not  a  question, 
but  a  statement. 

"Of  both  my  selves,  dear,"  he  replied.  "Of  my  human  self — 
and  a  nice  hash  I  made  of  that,  and  we  won't  talk  about  it.  And 
of  my  professional  self,  and  that,  at  any  rate,  we  can  talk  about. 
A  nice  hash  I  made  of  it  all  the  same." 

"How  old  are  you  now — really  and  truly  how  old  ?    Forty -two  ?" 

"Forty-one  next  November." 

"There,  see  now,  you  are  even  younger  than  I  thought.  I 
thought  you  were.  Oh  yes!  you're  going  to  say  that's  nonsense — 
but  you  know  what  I  mean."  And  Charles  admits  it.  "I  will  not 
deceive  you,  my  sweet,  I  do,"  he  says.  And  then  his  citation  from 
Mrs.  Gamp  recalls  Sister  Eulalie. 

"Mrs.  Prig  guessed  me  forty-seven,  and  I  guessed  her  twenty- 
nine.  She's  thirty-nine,  she  says.  Isn't  it  incredible?"  But 
Alice's  face  doesn't  care  what  age  Sister  Eulalie  is:  the  burden  of 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  319 

an  interest,  a  strong  one,  is  upon  it,  and  she  does  not  mean  to  be 
headed  off  by  anybody's  age. 

"How  can  you  know  whether  you  are  successful  or  not  at  forty- 
one?  How  do  you  know  you  won't  have  a  tremendous  success,  all 
of  a  sudden?  Yes — after  another  ten  years,  perhaps — ^but  some 
time !  And  then  twenty  years  of  real,  happy  work.  It  has  all  been 
before,  this  sort  of  thing.    Why  not  you?" 

Alice  has  taken  one  hand  from  under  her  chin  to  point  at  poor 
Charley,  like  an  accusing  Angel.    "Why  not  you  ?"  she  repeats. 

"You  needn't  look  so  reproachfi:l,  Miss  Kavanagh  darling.  I'm 
open   to   conviction,   like   other   culprits.     But  no !   I'll   tell  you, 

dear "    He  knocks  out  the  ashes  of  the  Latakia  from  his  pipe, 

and  reflects  on  the  first  instalment  of  his  explanation.  Alice 
replaces  her  hand,  and  remains  with  closed  lips  and  eyes  of  fixed 
attention.  A  stray  lock  of  hair  floats  over  her  forehead  in  the  light 
night  wind  that  is  seeking  windows  to  blow  in  at,  but  making 
little  effort  to  blow  them  open  for  itself.  If  a  spectator  twenty 
feet  high  could  have  looked  over  the  balcony,  he  would  certainly 
have  felt  the  beauty  of  Alice's  earnest  face  without  exactly  know- 
ing whether  it  was  due  to  its  intelligence,  or  the  remains  of  the 
afterglow,  all  but  dead  now,  but  just  able  to  put  a  faint  cadence  of 
benediction  on  record  before  saying  good-night. 

"I  know  my  work  is  rubbish."  Thus  Charles  at  the  end  of  his 
pause.  "All  unreal  rubbish!  I  hnow  it!  As  I  look  back  through 
the  dreary  ranks  of  spoiled  canvases,  I  ask  myself  the  question :  'If 
these  had  been  the  work  of  another  person,  and  I  had  been  Croesus, 
should  I  have  purchased  them  ?'  Not  I !  And  yet  I  paint  on,  hop- 
ing that  Croesus  will  see  something  in  my  work  I  do  not  see  myself, 
and  humbly  ask  to  be  permitted  to  possess  it." 

"Because  you  look  at  your  own  work.  You  should  never  do  that. 
Put  the  canvases  away  till  Croesus  comes.  The  less  you  see  of 
them  the  better." 

"That's  what  Croesus  thinks!"  But  Alice  is  too  earnest  even  to 
notice  any  cynical  exaggerations  or  "grim  ironies"  of  Master 
Charley's — she  knows  his  way  of  old.  Her  mind  is  on  a  warpath  of 
solid  purpose,  and  she  doesn't  mean  to  humour  any  extravagances. 
She  takes  absolutely  no  notice  of  his  remark,  but  goes  on. 

"Keep  them  out  of  your  sight,  and  take  the  word  of  your  friends 
about  their  value — not  your  own.  Think  what  Mr.  Jerrythought 
says !  And  what  did  that  man  say  that  came  to  dinner  at  Harley 
Street  ?    He's  an  Art-Critic  and  an  authority.    He  ought  to  know." 

"He  said  my  pictures  showed  a  delicacy  of  insight,  combined 
with  a  breadth  of  treatment,  that  foretold  a  future  for  the  Artist. 


320  ALICE-rOR-SHORT 

That's  what  he  said.  What  he  meant  was  that  the  Leoville  was 
unexceptionable,  the  Pommery-and-Greno  extra-sec,  and  that  he 
would  take  a  leg  of  the  grouse,  please!" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Charley — Mr.  Charley !  For  shame !  If  you  take  that 
tone  what  becomes  of  the  value  of  human  testimony  to  anything  ?" 

"What  is  the  value  of  human  testimony  to  anything  ?" 

"Very  well  then !  I  won't  talk  to  you.  Unless  you'll  be  reason- 
able." A  good-humoured  smile  twinkles  over  Charles's  face  as  he 
looks  with  admiration  at  the  earnestness  and  the  flashing  blue  eyes, 
not  quite  without  suspicion  of  a  tear  in  them.  He  surrenders  and 
promises  to  be  reasonable,  adding  something  under  his  breath. 

"What's  that  you  said?"  asks  his  monitress. 

"I  said — 'Bravo,  Alice !' "  This  belongs  to  the  class  of  irrelevant 
concomitants,  and  Alice  takes  no  notice  of  that  either.  She 
ploughs  straight  through  the  weeds,  and  goes  on  turning  up  the 
furrow. 

"Besides,  there  are  plenty  of  other  people  who  say  just  the  same 
about  your  work — it  isn't  as  if  it  was  only  one  little  humbug  of  an 
Art-Critic.  And  then,  your  work  has  never  been  properly  seen. 
The  public  don't  know  it."  But  Charles  notices  that  his  defender 
retires  to  a  second  line  of  defence,  and  suspects  that  the  guns 
on  the  first  line  were  not  fit  for  use.  "Who  were  the  plenty  of 
other  people  ?"  he  asks.  Alice  feels  that  one  or  two,  who  have  been 
on  the  tip  of  her  tongue,  are  not  strong  examples,  and  will  only 
weaken  her  case.    She  extricates  herself  cleverly. 

"No — ^I  won't  set  them  up  just  for  you  to  knock  down ;  you  know 
you  will.  But  though  you  won't  believe  me,  there  really  are  num- 
bers of  people  who  think  a  deal  of  your  pictures.  Why,  only  the 
other  day,  Lady — What's  her-name  ?  (You  know  who  I  mean — ^with 
a  bridge  to  her  nose — well — never  mind!)  was  asking  about  them 
and  saying  how  interesting  and  original  they  were."  Charles 
shakes  an  incredulous  head  slowly. 

"Dear  little  Mistress  Alice,"  he  says,  using  another  of  her  many 
appellations,  "I  have  noticed  that  people  are  rather  fond  of 
ascribing  a  factitious  importance  to  events  of  little  moment  in 
themselves  by  dwelling  on  the  fact  that  they  only  occurred  the 
other  day.  I  will  take  this  opportunity  of  pointing  out  that  the 
opinions  of  Lady  Nosebridge  are  not  of  any  value  in  themselves, 
and  do  not  acquire  any  from  the  date  of  their  utterance,  however 
recent."  Charles  has  fallen  into  his  old  mock-pompous  or  didactic 
form  of  speech,  and  Alice  laughs  with  pleasure,  for  it  is  a  sign, 
to  her,  that  he  is  less  unhappy  at  heart.  He  would  not  do  it  if  he 
were  quite  miserable.     She  knows  him,  down  to  the  ground. 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  321 

*T!  was  sure  you  were  talking  nonsense  all  along,"  she  says,  hope- 
fully. But  she  is  disappointed  when  his  tone  changes  again  in 
his  reply. 

"No,  dear,  no!"  he  says.  "I  was  talking  nonsense  then,  but  not 
before.  I  know  people  praise  my  work,  as  you  say,  after  a  fashion — 
but  they  speak  encouragingly.  Don't  you  know  how  crushed  one 
feels  when  one's  encouraged  encouragingly?"  Alice  thinks  of 
rebutting  this  on  the  ground  of  its  intrinsic  absurdity;  but  alas! 
she  knows  how  true  it  is,  and  gives  up  the  idea.  "Oh  dear !"  says 
she,  "I  wish  I  knew  about  painting  and  could  praise  it."  Charles 
laughs  aloud  at  this. 

"Oh,  Mistress  Alice — ^Mistress  Alice!"  he  says,  "that's  just  what 
you  couldn't  do  if  you  did  know.  You  praise  it  now  because  you 
love  me  and  Peggy,  and  because  you  think  you  have  a  warranty 
from  impartial  authorities,  but  you  haven't  for  all  that !"  Charles 
knocks  the  ash  out  of  his  pipe  with  a  sigh.  Then  he  begins  to  fill 
it  again,  and  rallies  to  cheerfulness.  "Now  we've  talked  enough 
about  me!  I  want  to  know  about  your  precious  self,  chick! 
What  did  you  write  to  poor  Roger  ?" 

Alice  unpacks  the  arrangement  of  hand-support  for  her  face, 
which  has  had  somewhat  the  force  of  a  gun-carriage;  and  sub- 
stitutes a  hair-ruffling  disposition  of  her  arms  above  her  head, 
which  is  not  unladylike  when  there  is  no  company.  It  has  an  effect 
of  effrontery,  with  conscious  weakness  in  the  background. 

"I'm  sure  I'm  very  sorry  for  Mr.  Selwyn-Kerr.  It  wasn't  me, 
you  know." 

"Wasn't  you?" 

"Wasn't  my  fault!  Besides  he  says  if  I  had  been  ever  so  dis- 
agreeable it  would  have  been  exactly  the  same." 

"Poor  Miss  Kavanagh!  She  was  in  a  fix!  No! — ^I  don't  see 
what  was  to  be  done.    But  what  did  you  say  to  him  ?" 

"I  don't  mind  your  seeing  the  letter,  Mr.  Charley.  It's  not  gone 
yet.  I'll  run  in  and  get  it."  Which  she  does,  but  does  not  return 
immediately.  Charles  goes  in  to  look  for  her,  and  meets  her  com- 
ing out  from  the  back-room  where  the  patient  is.  "I  thought  I 
heard  him,"  she  says,  "but  he's  sleeping  nicely  still."  Charles 
goes  in  to  the  light  to  read  the  letter.  After  a  glance  at  the  first 
page,  he  looks  up.  "Highly  proper!"  is  his  comment.  "I  wonder 
if  you  girls  are  aware  that  every  one  of  you  writes  exactly  the 
same  letter  under  the  same  circumstances?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Charley,  we  don't!  I'm  sure  mine  is  quite  original." 
Charles  returns  to  the  letter  and  reads  aloud : 

"  *Dear  Mr.  Selwyn-Kerr* — nothing  original  in  that,  anyhow — *I 


322  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

cannot  find  words  to  tell  you  how  completely  your  letter  yesterday 
took  me  by  surprise.  I  ask  you  most  earnestly  to  believe  me  when 
I  say  that  I  had  no  suspicion  of  the  existence  of  such  a  feeling 
on  the  part  of  one  whom  I  have  always  regarded  only  as  a 
friend,  however  cordial  the  friendly  relation  might  be  that  has 
always  subsisted  between  us,  and  that  will,  I  hope,  always 
continue.' 

"Now,  Miss  Kavanagh!  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  tell  me 
whether  you  consider  that  original,  and  if  so,  why?"  Charles  is 
sitting  on  the  comer  of  a  substantial  square  table  as  he  reads  this, 
under  the  gas  Alice  has  just  turned  up.  We  can  recognise  that 
table,  and  the  drawer  in  it,  as  the  one  in  which  Peggy  found  the 
tailor's  pattern-book;  it  has  become  part  of  "the  furniture"  and  is 
taken  for  granted  and  undistinguished.  If  it  can  think,  how 
puzzled  it  must  be  at  the  Alice  of  now  and  its  memory  of  the 
Alice  of  then.  Does  it  remember  the  days  of  its  first  furniture- 
polish,  when  there  was  no  Alice  at  all?  The  days  of  the  great 
Shop,  where  everything  was  new,  and  your  orders  received  prompt 
and  careful  attention  ?  If  it  does,  it  says  nothing  about  them,  nor 
does  it  seem  inquisitive  about  the  precise  relation  of  the  gentleman 
who  is  sitting  on  it,  and  the  young  lady  who  stands  there  beside 
him. 

Yet  it  might  be  puzzled  at  this  too,  although  the  explanation 
would  be  most  reasonable.  For  nothing  could  throw  more  light 
upon  it  than  the  perfectly  easy  and  unconcerned  way  in  which 
Alice  lays  her  right  hand  across  Charles's  shoulder,  and  with  her 
left  hand  takes  hold  of  a  corner  of  the  letter  he  is  reading;  as 
though  retaining  a  right  to  snatch  it  back  on  repentance,  if  it 
should  occur.  Nor  the  way  in  which  his  left  hand  goes  across  and 
finds  two  fingers  of  her  right  to  hold,  while  his  own  right  keeps 
a  firm  hold  on  the  letter,  as  a  hand  that  suspects  foul  play.  Out- 
side in  the  balcony,  they  might  have  been  people  who  had  met  a 
year  ago;  as  we  see  them  now,  they  are  redolent  of  three  or 
four  lustres  of  intimacy,  beginning  with  the  babyhood  of  the 
younger. 

"No,  Mr.  Charley  dear,  do  be  serious!  That's  only  the  intro- 
duction." 

"Very  well  then !  On  we  go :  'But  I  should  be  acting  in  a  most 
wrong  and  cowardly  manner,  from  scruples  about  saying  a  dis- 
agreeable thing,  if  I  left  you  to  suppose  that  my  feelings  towards 
you  could  ever  be  other  than  those  of  friendship.  Pray  dismiss 
the  idea  from  your  mind.' 

*Toor  Mr.  Selwyn-Kerr!     Squelched!"    Charles  looks  round  at 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  323 

the  pretty  face  on  his  left,  whose  owner  is  biting  its  under  lip,  as 
one  half  vexed,  half  laughing;  and  whose  cheeks  show  a  slight 
flush  of  embarrassment,  accenting  the  beauty  of  its  eyes.  ""Well!" 
says  she,  in  an  absurd,  apologetic  manner,  "go  ahead  and  read  the 
rest  I"    Charles  shakes  his  head  reproachfully  and  resumes. 

"*I  am  to  blame — at  least,  I  blame  myself — for  not  guessing 
about  it.  Had  I  suspected  the  truth,  I  might  at  least  have  dis- 
couraged you  by  my  manner  from  a  course  which  can  only  result 
in  pain  for  both  of  us,  especially  for  me;  for  indeed,  dear  Mr. 
Selwyn-Kerr,  I  did  and  do  value  your  friendship,  and  now  I  feel 

it  has  got  spoiled '    Thaf  s  original,"  said  Charles,  stopping — 

"  'got  spoiled'  is  decidedly  original." 

"I  thought  of  saying,"  says  Alice,  submissively,  "couldn't  he 
manage  to  keep  going,  and  not  have  any  Love  in  it?  But  I  had 
to  give  that  up.    However,  go  on!" 

Charles  does  not  go  on  at  once.  He  glances  on  a  few  lines  in 
advance,  murmuring  to  himself — "  'ought  to  tell  you  honestly — 
Jessie  Freeth' — what's  all  this  ?"  And  Alice  says,  "Read  it  aloud," 
and  relinquishes  the  held  corner  to  place  her  hand  on  his  unoccu- 
pied shoulder,  and  put  her  chin  on  it.  We  give  these  photographic 
details,  to  help  on  a  conception  of  the  general  position.  Without 
them,  misapprehensions  might  arise.  Charles  reads  aloud  as 
bidden. 

"  'I  feel  that  I  ought  to  tell  you  honestly  that  I  was  completely 
thrown  off  my  guard  by  a  foolish  report  (as  I  now  suppose,  an 
entirely  false  one)  that  you  and  Jessie  Freeth  were  engaged,  or 
nearly.  People  are  so  silly!  I  daresay,  though,  I  believed  it  all 
too  easily  because  I  am  so  fond  of  Jessie,  and  I  thought  it  would 
be  so  nice,  and  you  would  ask  me  to  your  house,  and  now  per- 
haps Jessie  will  be  unhappy  about  it,  because,  you  know,  if  one 
person  makes  a  mistake,  another  may.  Do  forgive  me,  for  writing 
all  this  to  you — but  I  owe  it  to  myself  to  tell  you  how  I  was  misled. 
I  could  not  bear  to  be  thought  heedless  or  inconsiderate  towards  a 
friend,  especially  towards  one  whom  I  have  always  valued  as  I 
have  yourself.'" 

"Turn  over,"  said  Alice.  Charles  did  so,  and  continued,  remark- 
ing that,  "here  was  the  peroration." 

"  'Dear  Mr.  Selwyn-Kerr,  you  have  done  me  the  greatest  honour 
that  any  man  can  do  to  any  woman,  so  do  not  believe  that  I  am 
ungrateful  or  unfeeling,  because  no  other  course  is  possible  to  me 
than  the  one  I  have  taken.  I  shall  be  very  unhappy  about  you  until 
1  hear  (as  I  earnestly  hope  I  some  day  shall)  that  you  have  found 
happiness  elsewhere.*    Meanwhile  I  cannot  say  too  plainly  that  I 


324  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

can  never  be  more  to  you  than  what  I  now  ask  to  oe  allowed  to 
sign  myself. 

Your  affectionate  and  faithful  friend, 

Alicia  Kavanagh.'" 

Charles  turned  back  the  pages,  asking,  "What's  the  asterisk? — 
oh,  here  we  are !" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Charley,  don't  say  I  mustn't  put  that  in.  Think  what 
a  bother  it  will  be  to  write  it  all  over  again.    And  so  cold-blooded !" 

"Let's  see  what  it  is.  Mistress  Alice.  *P.  S. — I  hope  I  shall  not 
do  wrong  in  speaking  of  this  matter  to  Jessie  Freeth.  I  will 
promise  not  to  talk  to  anybody  else.'  And  then  you  come  straight 
off  and  show  the  letter  to  me.    You're  a  nice  little  Alice-f or-short !" 

"Oh,  I  do  like  it  so  when  you  call  me  that.  You  haven't  done 
it  for  ever  so  long.  But  I  may  send  the  letter,  mayn't  I?  I 
thought  it  such  a  good  one." 

"It's  a  capital  letter.  It  shows  the  authoress.  You  send  it  off! 
Jessie  Freeth  and  Roger  will  suit  each  other  to  a  nicety." 

"Oh— but! " 

"Yes — but !  So  come  now,  Miss  Alice !  You  wouldn't  be  guilty 
of  matchmaking  of  course!    But  that's  what  will  come  of  it." 

"How  can  I  leave  poor  Jessie  in  ignorance?  She'll  forget  all 
about  him  if  I  tell  her — only,  she  ought  to  know."  Alice  is  all  up 
in  arms  about  her  friend,  and  her  face  is  flashing  with  earnest- 
ness again.  She  has  seemed  to  think  the  little  drama,  so  far  as  she 
herself  came  into  it,  only  a  farce.  Women  are  apt  to  look  on  all 
their  offers  but  one  as  farces.  But  she  evidently  fears  for  her 
friend  what  speech  in  time  from  herself  may  prevent.  "I'm  not 
matchmaking!"  says  she,  indignantly.  Her  chin  has  come  off 
the  hand  on  Charles's  shoulder,  and  she  is  half-seated  on  the 
table  behind  him.  He  is  relighting  his  pipe.  When  he  has  done 
this  they  go  out  on  the  balcony  into  the  moonlight,  and  settle 
down  as  before. 

"Why  do  you  say  'no'  to  all  of  'em,  little  Alice  ?" 

"I've  only  said  no  to  three  so  far,  unless  you  count  in  Sir  Thomas 
Brabazon?    He  makes  four." 

"I  certainly  count  him.  But  why  do  you  ?  Little  Mistress  Alice, 
if  there  is  any  one  in  the  bush  you're  keeping  back,  do  confess  up ! 
Take  a  poor  old  widower  into  your  confidence."  Charles  sits  look- 
ing at  Alice's  drooped  eyelids  and  hesitating  manner,  and  waiting 
for  a  concession.    Presently  she  looks  up: 

"Why  do  I  say  no?  Because  saying  yes  involves  so  much,  I 
suppose." 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  325 

"It  involves  a  great  deal.  So  does  asking  for  it.  Think  what 
it  must  have  cost  the  Brabazon  to  screw  himself  up  to  the 
point- 


"He's  quite  happy — he  heard  poor  father  was  a  tailor ! 


"Yes — but  he  was  very  heroic.  He  knew  about  the  beer  and  the 
Pub  story,  and  yet  he  came  to  the  scratch." 

"But  not  about  the  tailor!  I  was  glad  he  had  the  consolation 
though — it  was  a  consolation.  A  tailor  is  a  tailor,  put  it  how 
you  may!" 

"So  he  is — ^but  never  mind  Sir  Tommy.  7s  there  nobody  in  the 
bush?" — Alice  shakes  her  head  slowly  from  side  to  side,  and  at 
last  says,  "No — there's  no  one  I  care  about  in  the  bush — certainly, 
no  one!" 

"Well !  We  must  wait  and  hope.  Little  Alices  mustn't  be  wor- 
ried and  hurried.  And  they  shall  be  old  maids  if  they  like.  And  if 
they  don't  they  shall  marry  whoever  they  please." 

"Suppose  they  want  to  marry  people  that  don't  want  to  marry 
them !" — But  this  question  remains  unanswered  because  the  patient 
wakes. 

Alice  sits  thoughtful  after  she  has  overruled  an  attempt  of 
Charles  to  make  her  go  to  bed  while  he  sits  up  with  the  invalid. 
This  happens  every  night  and  Alice  usually  gets  her  way,  as  she 
does  to-night.  She  sits  and  thinks  and  thinks,  and  then  says 
with  a  sigh,  "Oh,  how  glad  I  shall  be  to  kiss  Aunty  Peggy  again !" — 
For  Pierre,  suddenly  wakeful,  has  wanted  to  know  why  Avmty 
Peggy  was  talked  to  over  the  balcony  to-day  and  not  allowed  to 
come  up.    He  is  getting  very  convalescent. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

HOW  ALICE  GOT  LET  IN  FOR  PARNASSUS.  HOW  SHE  WISHED  CHARLES  A 
RESPLENDENT  WIPE.  OP  TWO  FOOLS,  AND  WHAT  THEY  SAID.  OF  A 
MS.  THAT  CAME  TO  LIGHT 

A  REMARK  of  Charles's  towards  the  end  of  last  chapter  reminds 
us  that  a  fact  has  been  neglected  in  this  record.  \Vhen  he  said  that 
Alice's  letter  showed  the  authoress,  he  was  not  speaking  at  random, 
nor  in  jest.  She  was  not  only  an  authoress,  but,  considering  her 
years,  a  very  successful  one.  She  was  responsible  for  a  small 
volume  of  poems,  which  were  spoken  of  respectfully  by  the  Press, 
and  for  several  short  stories.  It  is  possible  that  you  are  acquainted 
with  both,  and  if  so  may  agree  with  us  that  the  latter,  though 
creditable  to  Alice,  were  like  her  love-letters  (or  friendship- 
answer  to  a  love-letter) — that  is,  not  specially  original.  But  her 
verse  certainly  showed  a  faculty  for  verse-making;  and  when  The 
Predominant  Era  remarked  that  Mr.  Brown,  the  Author  of  Weeh- 
Ends  at  Parnassus,  recalled  Miss  Kavanagh's  method,  that  in- 
fluential organ  expected  Mr.  Brown  to  feel  flattered  and  say 
thank-you. 

Whether  Alice's  dispositions  towards  the  Muse  could  have  been 
detected  in  her  recitations  to  Pussy  in  the  basement  of  No.  40  we 
cannot  say.  For  our  own  part  we  think  either  verse  or  prose  in 
such  very  young  people  gives  no  real  clue  to  their  capacities  later. 
Almost  all  children  (little  girls  especially)  tell  stories  and  make 
verses.  But  we  agree  with  Lady  Johnson  that  an  incident  that 
happened  during  Alice's  school-days  at  Miss  Fortescue's  showed 
that  the  technical  faculty  of  fitting  language  to  rhythm  and  pro- 
viding both  with  the  same  meaning  was  more  marked  in  her  than 
in  her  school-fellows.  Miss  Fortescue  was  an  enthusiast  in  Poetry, 
and  used  to  examine  her  pupils  on  the  subject  and  award  prizes  as 
a  stimulus  to  reading.  She  had  been  more  than  once  in  a  tight 
corner  owing  to  her  liberal  views  about  what  little  girls  ought  or 
ought  not  to  read.  Indignant  parents  had  descended  on  her  brand- 
ishing Elizabethan  poems  which  they  had  caught  their  offspring 
reciting,  and  (we  regret  to  write  it)  she  had  resorted  to  the  mean 
expedient  of  imputing  depravity  of  mind  to  the  reader  who  saw 
anything  to  question  in  them.    It  was  a  powerful  fulcrum,  but  we 

326 


ALICE-FOR-SnOUT  32? 

feel  for  the  parents,  and  doubt  if  it  was  fair  play.  This  phase  of 
the  subject,  however,  does  not  concern  us  at  this  moment. 

It  chanced  that  Miss  Fortescue  one  day  took  it  into  her  head  to 
set  up  what  is  called  a  'correction-class.'  The  idea  was  to  take  in 
hand  any  passages  from  celebrated  poets  that  struck  Miss  Fortescue 
as  incomplete  or  defective,  and  to  write  in  or  substitute  others 
more  in  keeping  (according  to  her  ideas)  with  their  surroundings. 
She  explained  to  Peggy  that  her  motive  in  doing  this  was  not  to 
amend  the  defects  of  Shakspeare,  etc.,  but  to  give  a  wholesome 
stimulus  to  the  literary  faculties  of  her  pupils.  The  incident  in 
hand  was  the  setting  of  an  examination-paper  (with  marks)  in 
which  some  passages  were  to  have  substitutes  written  for  the 
italicised  lines,  or  the  hiatus  (in  other  cases)  filled  in.  Here  was 
one  case: — 

"Here  rests  his  head  npon  the  lap  of  Earth, 
A  Youth  to  Fortune  and  to  Fame  unknown  ; 
Fail-  Science  frowned  not  on  his  humble  birth, 
And  Melancholy  marked  him  for  her  own." 

Why  Miss  Fortescue  selected  this  line  for  excision  we  are  not 
called  on  to  speculate.  It  was  in  the  examination  paper,  and  Alice 
supplied  her  substitute  thus: — 

"Nor  song,  nor  lute,  made  music  at  his  birth." 

Perhaps  filling  in  blanks  left  by  a  Poet  was  less  impertinent  than 
this  interference  with  an  existing  text.  The  impertinence  was, 
however.  Miss  Fortescue's.  Alice  had  to  fill  in,  or  lose  marks.  So 
she  went  at  it  bravely.  These  that  follow  have  blanks,  left  by 
Shelley,  filled  in  with  italicised  words  by  Miss  Kavanagh: — 

"And  still  I  love,  and  still  I  think 
But  strangely,  for  my  heart  can  drink 
The  dregs  of  such  despair  and  live 
And  love;  a  vain  prerogative! 
And  if  I  think,  my  thoughts  come  fast, 
I  mix  the  present  with  the  past 
And  each  seems  uglier  than  the  last. 

....  Your  sweet  voice,  like  a  bird 

Singing  love  to  its  lone  mate 

In  the  ivy-bower  disconsolate; 

Voice  the  sweetest  ever  heard! 

And  your  brow,  more  heaven-insphered 

Than  the  Alp's  crest  in  the  noon-day  sky 

Of  this  azure  Italy." 

No  doubt  you  would  have  acquitted  yourself  better.  But  our 
bosioess  is  merdy  to  reoerd,  and  we  only  :xK)te  this  iocid^it  to 


328  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

remark  that  Alice's  answers  were  so  immeasurably  better  than 
those  of  the  other  young  people,  that  Miss  Fortescue  retained 
them  to  show  to  Lady  (then  Mrs.)  Johnson,  and  Charles.  Both 
required  Alice  to  write  verses  on  the  spot,  and  Alice,  who  would 
have  thrown  her  examination-papers  into  the  fire  if  they  had  been 
returned  to  her,  did  as  she  was  bid.  Peggy  informed  an  editor  of 
a  Monthly  that  unless  he  inserted  a  poem  of  Alice's  in  his  columns 
she  would  never  ask  him  to  dinner  again,  and  he  not  only  complied, 
but  demanded  more  of  the  same  sort,  and  got  it.  So  that  in  time 
the  poems  of  A.  K.  accumulated;  and,  as  you  possibly  know,  have 
their  admirers  to  this  day. 

So  now  we  can  understand  what  Alice  was  at,  in  that  little 
patch-room  at  Harley  Street.  Also  what  she  evidently  meant  to  be 
at  as  soon  as  she  had  got  rid  of  Mr.  Charley — "packed  him  off  to 
bed"  was  the  way  her  mind  put  it — and  had  devoted  herself  to  the 
patient's  restless  hour  or  so  after  his  long  sleep.  But  her  prepara- 
tions and  her  new  pen  did  not  lead  to  much  copy.  Perhaps  the 
atmosphere  and  the  incidents  of  a  fever-ward  are  not  favourable  to 
authorship — they  were  all  there  in  this  case,  but  we  are  keeping 
them  out  of  sight  as  much  as  possible,  as  we  all  know  what  they 
are  like  without  telling.  Or,  if  not,  we  have  been  strangely 
favoured  by  Providence. 

Anyhow,  Alice  felt  very  little  like  writing  when  she  began  to  try, 
and  threw  down  the  new  pen. 

She  went  out  into  the  starlight  on  the  balcony.  The  street  had 
stilled  down  towards  the  small  hours  of  the  morning,  as  much  as 
streets  do  in  London.  Stray  gusts  of  late  home-comers  in  Hansoms 
recurred  with  intermittent  rattle  and  slapping  to  of  cab-doors. 
Every  one  of  them  made  believe  to  be  the  last,  but  left  a  silence  that 
seemed  conscious  there  would  soon  be  another.  And  it  came.  And 
then  the  heel  of  a  deliberate  policeman  appeared  to  be  trying  to 
impress  the  paving  stones,  and  convince  them  that  every  one  had 
now  gone  to  bed.  But  they  rejected  his  evidence,  and  were  justi- 
fied.   For  there  was  always  one  last  cab  still ! 

But  it  was  pleasant  to  sit  there  thinking,  in  the  sweet  night- 
air.  And  Alice  sat  and  thought,  and  wished  and  wished.  Her 
wishes  took  a  curious  turn.  She  wished  she  was  Lady  Anstruther 
Paston-Forbes,  and  then  she  could  marry  Mr.  Charley  and  use  all 
that  money  to  make  him  happy.  For  she  took  Charles's  passion 
for  this  lady  au  grand  serieux.  "Now  Miss  Straker's  dead,"  said 
her  thoughts  to  her,  "there's  nothing  to  prevent  it.  Oh  dear! 
how  nice  it  would  be !"  But  so  completely  was  Charles  the  grown-up 
persoUj,  and  so  completely  was  her  version  of  herseK,  ad  hoc,  the 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  329 

little  girl  that  he  had  drawn  up  out  of  the  gutter  and  placed  in 
affluence  and  happiness,  that  no  slightest  idea  of  benefit  that  would 
arise  from  the  obvious  fact  that  if  she  was  Lady  Anstruther 
Paston-Forbes,  that  lady  would  certainly  be  Alice  Kavanagh,  was 
allowed  to  enter  into  her  calculations.  The  intensity  of  her  wish 
to  see  Mr.  Charley  happy,  a  wish  into  which  no  selfish  thought 
entered,  really  required  the  expedient  of  merging  her  personality 
in  that  of  an  imagined  benef  actrix,  to  make  a  working  hypothesis. 
She  knew  that  Charles  was  very  poor;  the  extravagance  of  "Miss 
Straker"  had  made  him  so.  And  she  built  a  glorious  castle  in  the 
air  in  which  this  next  Mrs.  Charles  Heath  was  to  engineer  her 
wealth  so  as  to  place  her  husband  on  a  pinnacle.  But  the  magnifi- 
cent widow  was  not  to  be  trusted  with  her  own  identity,  intact, 
to  do  that.  Alice  disintegrated  it  with  an  infusion  of  herself;  she 
was  to  supply  volition  and  purpose.  Meanwhile  her  discarded 
remainder  never  came  into  court — it  was  to  exult  with  Miss  Peggy 
— for  in  this  dreamland  all  the  dramatis  personce  were  to  belong 
to  the  early  time — over  the  great  achievement  of  achievements, 
the  making  of  Charles  into  a  happy  and  successful  man.  Bother 
obstacles! — She  chose  to  dwell  on  it,  for  the  sheer  pleasure 
of  the  thought.  Fancy  seeing  Mr.  Charley  really  great  and 
happy,  and  she,  little  Alice-for-short,  having  really  had  a  hand 
in  it! 

And  as  Alice  pondered  iinder  the  starlight  with  an  animated 
face,  Charles  was,  let  us  hope,  asleep.  If  so,  maybe  his  own  last 
waking  thoughts  had  crept  into  his  dreams.  They  were  about 
Alice,  and  Alice's  too  numerous  rejected  lovers.  He  did  not  care 
about  most  of  them;  but  one  or  two,  Roger  Selwyn-Kerr  particu- 
larly, seemed  to  him  to  be  worthy  applicants.  He  could  not  under- 
stand Alice's  persistent  decision  in  her  treatment  of  the  subject. 
He  could  recollect,  with  a  smile,  his  sister's  firm  resolve  about 
marriage,  and  her  lament  in  the  same  breath  for  their  effect  upon 
the  man  she  already  loved.  But  in  Alice's  case  there  was  no  sus- 
picion of  exalted  Purpose.  She  honestly  meant  that  she  didn't 
want  to  marry  the  gentleman,  and  said  so  plainly.  "Of  course,'* 
thought  Charles  to  himself,  "she  buttered  him  up  about  friend- 
ship— they  always  do!  Even  Peggy  friendshipped  Rupert.  But 
then  she  gave  him  distinctly  to  understand  there  was  no  one  she 
liked  better."  Sleep  did  not  allow  him  time  to  finish  wondering 
whether  Alice  really  liked  some  one  else  better.  But  perhaps  she 
did.  "Better,"  in  this  case,  be  it  observed,  always  means  fift^ 
times  as  well,  or  even  more. 

.What  manner  of  thing  Charles  likened  his  life  to  we  have  tried 


330  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

to  show — a  garden  run  to  waste — a  weedy  tangle  on  exhausted  soil. 
No  place  this  to  plant  a  sweet  young  rose-tree  in !  The  tenant  of 
the  garden  was  deeply  interested  in  the  place  the  rose-tree  should 
find — elsewhere.  But  it  never  crossed  his  mind  for  a  moment  that 
it  could  possibly  bloom  and  flourish  among  his  nettles  and  rag- 
wort, and  he  would  fain  have  seen  its  owner  plant  it  on  virgin  soil ; 
in  a  garden  full  of  sunlight,  no  ray  of  which  ever  seemed  now  to 
pierce  the  overgrowth  of  his  own.  He  was  a  spoiled  piece  of  goods 
in  his  own  eyes,  and  his  tired  old  heart,  spacious  and  empty  cer- 
tainly, was  not  the  home  for  a  young  tenant  and  new  curtains  and 
carpets.  If  this  Chaos  of  metaphors  conveys  its  meaning,  it 
may  perhaps  be  excused. 

Meanwhile  the  young  tenant  never  dreamed  of  herself  in  that 
capacity.  She  and  Peggy  were  joint-caretakers  perhaps,  but  a 
really  responsible  occupant  had  still  to  be  found.  Lady  Anstruther 
Paston-Eorbes  was  a  pourparler,  subject  to  approval  on  more  inti- 
mate acquaintance.  She  was  the  most  probable  at  this  moment. 
But  there  were  others.  The  most  desirable  fruit  on  the  stall  was 
always  being  picked  up  and  handled  to  see  if  it  was  really  fit  for 
Master  Charles's  consumption.  It  is  true  that  Peggy  had  more 
than  once  wondered  whether  it  was  necessary  to  go  out  of  doors  to 
find  it.  But  then  she  had  said  to  herself,  "See  what  I  may  spoil  by 
hinting  at  such  a  thing !"  and  decided  on  leaving  these  two  uncon- 
sciousnesses alone. 

Neither  did  either  of  the  joint-caretakers  figure  to  themselves 
what  a  ruinous  concern  the  owner  of  the  house  thought  it.  Cer- 
tainly Alice  did  not  as  she  sat  there  in  the  summer  night,  con- 
juring up  an  image  of  Lady  Anstruther  Paston-Forbes,  conducted 
by  another  image,  a  radiant  one,  of  Charles,  to  the  altar.  She  even 
went  the  length  of  dressing  the  bride  in  white  satin,  trimmed  with 
lace,  embroidered  with  roses  and  leaves  en  chiffon.  It  is  of  course 
possible  that  the  perfect  serenity  with  which  she  surrendered  Mr. 
Charley  to  the  keeping  of  this  impressive  spectacle  was  founded  on 
a  confidence  in  its  instability.  She  might  have  grudged  to  the 
actual  what  she  yielded  easily  to  a  dream  of  her  own  invention. 
But  even  had  she  hesitated  in  the  casting  of  the  parts  in  this 
drama,  there  would  have  been  no  suspicion  of  a  tendency  to  assign 
a  leading  part  to  herself.  She  might  have  put  in  another  bride,  if 
she  had  recollected  Charles  expressing  admiration  for  an  eligible 
one;  but,  as  it  chanced,  none  occurred  to  her;  so  Charles  and  her 
iLadyship  lived  happy  ever  after — that  period  in  dreamland  being 
ready  to  occur  within  any  given  limits,  to  meet  the  views  of  the 
.dremner. 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  331 

It  was  so  sweet  and  the  night-air  so  warm  on  the  balcony  that 
Alice  thought  she  might  safely  doze  a  little.  Pierre  was  well 
within  hearing  and  she  had  made  up  her  mind  that  as  long  as  he 
slept  so  sound  she  wasn't  going  to  wake  him  up  for  beef -tea  or  jelly 
or  medicine  or  anything,  whatever  the  doctor  said.  But  she  had 
the  presence  of  mind  before  dropping  off  to  wrap  herself  in  a  warm 
railway  rug.  It  might  turn  cold;  but  it  was  so  much  nicer  out 
here  than  in  the  room. 

She  may  have  slept  an  hour  when  she  was  half  waked  by  the 
sound  of  voices  close  at  hand.  It  occurred  to  her  that  she  did  not 
know  where  she  was ;  so  she  roused  up  thoroughly  to  see.  She  satis- 
fied herself  on  this  point,  and  also  that  the  voices  were  those  of 
Charles's  next-door  neighbour — a  painter  like  himself,  but  a  suc- 
cessful one — and  of  a  friend  who  seemed  to  have  walked  home  with 
him  and  to  be  taking  leave  to  go  to  his  own  home.  Ought  she  to 
indicate  her  presence  by  coughing,  sneezing,  shouting,  or  otherwise  ? 
She  was  hesitating  which  to  choose  when  a  question  from  the 
friend  stopped  her,  and  her  curiosity  to  hear  it  answered  made 
her  refrain  and  listen,  dishonourably.  But  then,  the  question  was 
about  Mr.  Charley.    Honour  be  hanged ! 

"Who  lives  next  door  on  this  side?" 

"Heath.  Charles  Heath.  You  know  the  story  about  him?  l!:^o? 
Why,  you  must  know  it!" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Well!  Three  men  arranged  to  give  a  dinner  and  each  was  to 
ask  the  worst  painter  he  knew.  Nobody  turned  up  but  Heath. 
And  he  wanted  to  know  why  he  had  had  an  invitation  from  all 
three.    Haw!  Haw!  Haw!" 

"Har!  Har!  Har!    What's  his  work  like  though,  reely?" 

"Footy  stuff.    Gormy  colour.    No  drawin'!" 

"Man  of  property  ?" — At  this  point  Alice  felt  that  the  conversa- 
tion was  carried  on  for  a  moment  by  facial  expression.  Then  the 
questioner  said  he  twigged,  and  the  other  resumed  articulate 
speech. 

"At  least,  I  oughtn't  to  say  that.  His  governor  didn't  cut  up 
so  fat  as  was  expected.  He'd  been  very  warm  in  his  time  though. 
But  he  came  to  grief  in  Trade.  Still,  not  so  bad!"  And  again 
the  other  said  he  twigged.  Then  the  first  dropped  his  voice,  and 
Alice  knew  he  was  going  to  speak  about  a  lady.  But  he  intensified 
in  interest  to  make  up  for  his  sotto-voce.  She  only  caught 
snatches,  however: 

"You  must  have  heard  about  that  affair?  .  .  .  seven  or  eight 
years  ago  .  .  .  moddle  .  .  .  figure-moddle  ...  oh  yes  I  Ae  married 


882  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

her  right  enough!  .  .  .  handsome  woman  .  .  .  great  singer  too 
.  .  .  fine  soprano  .  .  .  dark  horse  to  put  his  money  on " 

"She  alive?" 

"Couldn't  say!  Went  regularly  to  the  bad,  I  believe  ...  di- 
vorce-court proceedings  .  .  .  sorry  for  him!  He's  a  nice  feller — 
nice  a  feller  as  I  know !    Do  you  know  what  o'clock  it  is,  my  boy  ?" 

"Three.    Good-night!" 

"Good-night!" 

And  the  two  separated  with  sudden  alacrity,  to  make  up,  by 
saving  two  minutes,  for  the  spending  of  three  hours  in  talk  like  the 
above.  The  one  shut  himself  briskly  into  his  house;  the  other 
broke  into  an  exculpatory  trot  till  he  preferred  walking,  and 
lighted  a  cigar. 

As  soon  as  they  were  clear  out  of  the  way,  Alice  went  indoors  to 
finish  her  doze,  so  far  as  she  felt  likely  to  do  so.  She  was  simply 
boiling  with  indignation,  especially  about  the  story  of  the  three 
invitations.  Now,  had  Alice  only  known  it,  she  need  not  have 
troubled  about  this.  For  this  story  is  told  in  just  as  many  forms 
as  there  are  professions.  A  is  made  to  figure  as  the  worst  lawyer, 
B  as  the  dullest  writer,  C  as  the  slowest  actor,  D  as  the  greatest 
liar,  and  E  as  the  dreariest  bore  in  London.  It  is  a  very  good 
Btory,  but  we  confess  we  are  getting  tired  of  it.  It  was  new  to 
Alice,  and  her  blood  boiled  on  Charles's  behalf.  As  for  the  ref- 
erences to  his  late  wife,  she  knew  well  enough  that  the  unheard 
portions  of  the  conversation  were  worse  than  what  had  reached 
her  ears,  and  the  sous-entendus  probably  still  worse  than  they. 
Her  wrath  did  not  diminish  when  she  remembered  that  she  had 
heard  this  very  same  next-door  neighbour  (who  was  no  stranger) 
speak  in  praise  of  Charles's  art,  and  ascribe  to  it  a  subtle  quality. 
Had  his  tongue  really  been  in  his  cheek  all  the  while  ?  She  asked  her- 
self this  question,  and  then,  becoming  cynical,  asked  this  one  also, 
"Do  real  Artists  ever  speak  a  word  of  truth?"  And  then  remem- 
bered that  Charles  was  the  soul  of  truthfulness,  and  could  not  but 
Bpeculate  on  the  inevitable  inference:  Was  he  a  real  Artist? 

How  if  it  really  had  all  been  a  mistake  from  the  beginning? 
Suppose  Charles  had  gone  to  the  Bar — ^would  the  Bar  have  slipped 
away  from  him,  like  an  ignis-fatuus  over  a  marsh  ?  If  he  had  eaten 
his  Terms,  would  he  have  learned  how  to  eat  his  words  grace- 
fully, later  on?  Other  men,  as  good  as  he,  had  learned  how 
to  prevaricate,  before  now.  Why  not  he?  He  might  not 
have  been  able  to  rise  to  the  height  of  a  politician;  but,  if  it 
was  only  straightforward  equivocation!  And  after  he  became  a 
Judge,  he  wouldn't  have  had  to  suppress  his  veracity  any  longer. 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  333 

She  reviewed  other  professions  in  the  same  cynical  tone,  produced 
by  what  she  had  just  heard,  but  always  with  the  assumption  taken 
for  granted  that  Charles  would  have  been  equal  to  any  of  them. 
He  had  thrown  a  doubt  on  his  powers  as  an  Artist  during  twenty 
years  of  practice — but  it  was  only  a  doubt.  Alice  would  admit 
no  more  than  that. 

There  was  a  general  tendency,  in  all  her  speculation  about 
Charles's  capabilities,  to  exclude  action  in  favour  of  reflection  and 
imagination.  When  she  asked  herself  why  she  believed  in  them  at 
all — because  she  admitted  they  must  be  definitely  referable  to 
something  he  said  or  did — she  found  herself  compelled  to  answer 
that  it  was  something  he  said  or  wrote;  nothing  he  did.  Have 
not  we — have  not  you? — sometimes  been  forced  to  the  conclusion 
that  so-and-so  must  he  a  very  clever  man  because  of  little  things 
he  has  thrown  out  in  an  unconcerned  way — things  you  could 
scarcely  seriously  repeat  as  achievements  in  epigram,  but  that 
gave  a  strong  bias  and  colour  to  your  estimation  of  what  he  had 
not  said,  but  kept  in  reserve?  When  Peggy  one  day  asked  Alice, 
"WTiat  makes  you  think  Charley  could  write  a  play?"  Alice  was 
nonplussed.  She  felt  it  would  be  most  unjust  to  Charles  to  trot 
out  chance  turns  of  speech  of  his  as  the  materials  on  which  to  build 
him  up  as  a  poet  or  a  wit.  But  she  believed  in  some  latent  poten- 
tialities all  the  same;  and  when  her  sceva  indignatio  against  the 
gentleman  next  door  had  subsided,  and  her  first  vigorous  resent- 
ment of  his  criticism  of  Charles  had  given  way  to  the  counter- 
swing  of  the  pendulum — "How  if  it  really  had  been  a  mistake 
from  the  beginning?" — she  recalled  this  conversation  with  Peggy; 
and  then  she  wondered  whether  the  conviction  she  was  not  able  to 
support,  but  felt  so  strongly,  might  not  have  been  based  on  a  missed 
possibility  that  would  not  have  been  a  mistake  from  the  beginning. 

She  looked  at  her  patient.  He  was  sleeping  quite  beautifully 
again,  while  she  herself  had  become  suddenly  intensely  wakefuL 
This  does  happen  when  one  has  been  jerked  out  of  one's  sleep. 
She  re-read  poor  Mr.  Selwyn-Kerr's  letter.  It  was  one  of  those 
mistakes — to  our  thinking — an  offer  in  writing.  It  lacked  spon- 
taneousness ;  all  the  vital  parts  had  an  effect  of  steam  intentionally 
turned  on,  while  the  more  restrained  portions  suggested  priggish- 
ness.  Alice  said  to  herself,  "Yes!  Passionate  protestations  of 
respectful  admiration."  It  was  her  isolation  in  the  zone  of  small- 
pox that  had  made  Mr.  Kerr's  declaration  come  by  post.  "I  hope 
he  doesn't  think  I'm  going  to  catch  it,"  added  Alice,  and  you  may 
wonder  why.  What  she  meant  was  that  there  would  be  a  certain 
heroism  (the  antithesis  of  Mr.  Guppy)  about  a  proposal  to  a  lady 


334.  :^ICE-FOE-SnORT_ 

in  the  jaws  of  an  infectious  hospital,  and  that  she  might  feel 
morally  bound  to  marry  its  author.  "But  it  all  turns  on  whether  he 
believes  I'm  vaccinated  and  it  took.  At  least  that's  what  Mr. 
Charley  would  say." 

Whenever  any  odd  turn  of  thought  or  ludicrous  phrase  presented 
itself  she  always  put  it  down  to  Mr.  Charley  in  this  way.  And 
she  now  proceeded  (always  ascribing  her  thoughts  potentially  to 
Charles — classing  them  as  what  he  would  have  thought)  to  con- 
struct a  preposterous  lever  de  rideau  about  a  heroine  who  had 
undertaken  a  smallpox  patient.  She  had  two  suitors,  a  vaccina- 
tionist and  an  anti-vaccinationist.  Each  was  anxious  to  know  how 
effectually  she  had  been  vaccinated,  but  for  different  reasons.  The 
former  because  he  wanted  to  write  off  an  offer  of  marriage  to  her 
and  seem  to  be  running  a  risk  of  a  nutmeg-grater  bride,  heroically, 
but  all  the  while  relying  on  well-authenticated  lymph.  The  other, 
because  he  wanted  also  to  propose  by  post,  but  not  until  he  had 
examined  a  sample  of  the  lymph  injected  into  the  deltoid  of  his 
beloved,  to  make  sure  that  it  didn't  contain  the  virus  of  Bubonic 
Plague.  One  never  can  tell.  The  scene  of  this  remarkable  little 
affair  was  to  be  the  waiting-room  of  the  doctor  who  had  vaccinated 
her,  where  the  two  suitors  would  present  themselves  simultaneously 
to  make  enquiries,  each  with  a  ready-written  letter  in  his  pocket. 
Each  suitor  then  was  to  try  to  bribe  the  vaccinator  to  give  informa- 
tion of  a  terrifying  nature  to  the  other,  to  put  him  off.  The  anti- 
vaccinator,  to  say  that  the  lady  had  accidentally  been  vaccinated 
with  common  spellicans,  and  was  open  to  any  amount  of  smallpox; 
while  his  rival  endeavoured  to  induce  him  to  exhibit  some  virus  of 
Bubonic  Plague  (which  he  has  taken  the  precaution  to  bring  in. 
his  pocket)  as  the  selected  sample  specially  used  on  the  lady.  "I 
wish  Mr.  Charley  would  write  that.  I  know  he  could  do  it,"  said 
Alice.  "If  I  could  only  find  something  he  had  written,  to  convict 
him  with,  I'd  soon  make  him  write  more." 

Whether  an  old  recollection,  connected  with  the  table  they  had 
read  the  letter  on,  was  really  the  underlying  cause  of  all  this  specu- 
lation, or  whether  the  latter  had  revived  the  former,  would  be  hard  to 
say.  Anyhow,  at  this  moment  Alice  recalled  a  conversation  of  years 
ago  between  Peggy  and  Charles ;  how  a  hunt  was  made  for  a  missing 
letter  in  the  drawer  of  this  table,  and  how  Peggy  turned  over 
some  papers  and  said,  "What  are  all  these?" — And  how  Charles 
had  said  they  were  nothing,  and  hustled  them  back  into  the 
drawer.  Our  own  belief  is  the  recollection  of  this  had  hung  about 
her,  unconfessed,  all  along.  She  thought  otherwise  later,  and  was 
inclined  to  believe  a  well-disposed  spook  had  a  hand  in  her  revival 


ALICE-rOK-SHOET  335 

of  the  incident  and  consequent  impulse  to  open  the  drawer.  Which- 
ever it  was,  she  did  open  it,  and  seemed  not  displeased  with  her 
investigation  of  its  contents.  "I  was  sure  of  it,"  said  she,  half 
aloud.  She  put  back  all  she  had  taken  out  except  one  roll  of  paper 
which  she  deliberately  appropriated,  after  glancing  at  it.  "Very 
well,  Mr.  Charley,"  said  she,  "now  we'll  see  who's  right."  But  the 
closing  of  this  drawer  made  a  noise  and  waked  the  patient,  whose 
claim  for  attention  put  an  end  to  further  examination.  So  after 
enough  inspection  to  see  that  it  appeared  to  be  a  story,  having  for 
its  title,  "The  Other  Road  Round,"  Alice  put  it  away  where  she 
could  lay  her  hand  on  it  again,  and  devoted  herself  to  Pierre  until 
Sister  Eulalie  appeared  to  relieve  her,  by  which  time  she  was 
heartily  glad  to  go  to  bed  and  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXXni 

HOW  LATAKU  KEPT  OFF  INFECTION,  AND  HOW  ALICE  WENT  TO  FRIENDS  IN 
THE  COUNTRY.  HOW  PHYLLIS  CARTWRIGHT  CAME  OUT  OP  A  DARK 
ROOM,  AND  JEFF  SAW  AN  OPTICAL  DELUSION 

When  there  is  bad  illness  about,  work  goes  to  the  wall.  The 
Artist  may  be  putting  the  last  touch  on  the  concentrated  effort  of 
years,  the  Author  on  the  very  verge  of  a  triumphant  climax  he 
has  been  looking  forward  to  through  hundreds  of  seeming-unre- 
munerative  pages,  the  Physiologist  within  an  ace  of  putting  salt  on 
the  tail  of  the  vital  principle,  the  Musician  of  striking  the  lost 
chord,  or  the  Accountant  a  balance — it  all  comes  to  the  same  thing ! 
No  matter  how  industrious  we  may  have  been,  nor  how  engrossed 
in  the  crisis  of  the  moment,  just  let  diphtheria,  typhoid,  Asiatic 
cholera — even  vulgar  monosyllabic  mumps — make  their  appearance 
in  the  household,  and  there's  an  end  of  everything!  The  colour 
that  was  to  have  brought  this  into  harmony  with  that,  or  put 
t'other  down,  dries  on  your  palette  unused.  The  ink  on  the  pen 
that  was  to  have  embodied  your  subtle  fancy  gets  wiped  off  on 
your  little  bit  of  wet  sponge.  Your  attentive  observation  of  a 
sterilised  vacuum,  which  amoebae  had  as  good  as  undertaken  to 
appear  in,  is  interrupted.  The  lost  chord  and  the  balance  remain 
alike  unstruck,  and  you  have  to  go  for  the  doctor.  And  your  work 
goes  to  the  Devil. 

But  if  you  care  for  your  work  and  are  keenly  in  earnest  about 
it,  you  don't  give  in  without  a  struggle.  If,  like  poor  Charley,  you 
are  half-hearted,  you  do.  Charles  didn't  really  do  any  work  at  his 
Studio  during  Pierre's  illness.  He  went  there,  surreptitiously,  but 
rather  than  otherwise  jumped  at  the  probability  of  spoiling  every- 
thing he  touched,  as  an  excuse  for  never  touching  anything  at  all. 
Besides,  he  couldn't  have  models  to  work  from !  The  indecisive  be- 
ginnings he  made  as  apologies  to  his  own  conscience  had  more  the 
character  of  records  of  what  he  hadn't  done  than  of  work.  But 
fidgeting  over  these,  feeling  anxious  and  miserable,  and  keeping 
every  one  else  out  of  the  room,  seemed  to  fill  out  the  day.  Only 
it  was  rather  like  eating  chemical  food  to  give  a  spurious  sense  of 
a  full  stomach. 

836 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  337 

Our  old  friend  Jeff  paid  him  frequent  visits  outside  the  door 
during  the  illness,  and  was  talked  to  by  Charles  from  within  even 
after  the  patient  had  been  allowed  to  get  up.  When  one  day,  some 
cix  weeks  after  the  first  attack,  he  learned  that  Pierre  was  to  go  to 
the  sea-side,  he  flatly  refused  to  be  excluded  from  the  room  any 
longer.  He  summed  up  his  attitude  towards  medical  authority  and 
hygienic  precaution  in  two  forcible  words.  "'Ang  rot!"  was  the 
sentiment  with  which  he  met  Charles's  refusal  to  let  him  come 
in.  And  he  followed  this  with  a  threat,  if  Charles  persisted,  to  go 
straight  away  to  the  Smallpox  Hospital  and  rub  his  nose  in  a  con- 
fluent case  of  the  deadliest  type.  He  succeeded  in  getting  past 
the  door,  but  made  one  concession  to  prudence,  "You  won't  object 
to  my  smokin',"  said  he,  "as  a  precaution  against  infection,  don't 
you  know,  Charley." 

So  as  the  two  old  friends  sit  there,  puffing  clouds  from  the 
Latakia  of  the  bygone  time,  we  can  take  a  look  round  at  the 
Studio  and  note  the  changes  of  sixteen  years. 

There  is  the  easel  Charles  was  painting  Regan  on  when  we  were 
here  last;  there  is  the  throne  she  came  that  memorable  header  off 
into  Charles's  arms;  there  is  the  chair  she  rested  in  after  that 
adventure.  The  table  she  sat  reading  Victor  Hugo  at  is  gone — ^we 
saw  it  the  other  day  at  Acacia  Eoad — and  there  is  another  in  its 
place.  We  recognise  the  tobacco-jar  from  which  Jeff  fills  a  pipe 
he  finds  on  the  chimney-piece,  and  the  mahl-stick  Charles  puts 
down  as  he  lights  one  to  keep  Jeff  company.  Why  should  any 
man  have  more  than  one  mahl-stick  in  his  life  ?  Of  course  there  is 
the  invariable  lay-figure  with  her  head  on  the  wrong  way.  We  know 
her  of  old,  with  her  square  bolt-heads  buried  in  her  system  and  her 
skin  slipping  over  them ;  her  effrontery  in  pretending  she  has  a  key, 
while  she  knows  it  cannot  be  found,  and  wouldn't  work  if  it  could ; 
her  repulsive  appearance  when  her  head  comes  off  accidentally  and 
we  shudder  at  her  peg.  Otherwise,  we  see  little  for  recognition. 
The  room  seems  much  fuller,  but  it  is  mostly  due  to  canvases  that 
are  modestly  turning  their  faces  to  the  wall,  and  a  certain  number 
of  framed  pictures,  sometimes  with  a  printed  numeral  pasted  on 
the  frame — a  memory  of  an  Exhibition  it  was  concealed  from  the 
public  eye  in,  or  would  have  been  if  the  public  eye  had  sought  for 
it.  On  the  easel  is  a  picture — only  we  can't  see  it  for  a  stained- 
glass  cartoon  that  is  in  front  of  it,  which  is  upside  down.  We 
cannot  quite  make  out  whether  it  is  Saul  and  David,  or  Christ  and 
the  Woman  of  Samaria.  It  may  be  either,  and  it  doesn't  matter. 
It  is  quite  as  much  leads  as  anything  else,  and  the  leads  seem  to 
belong  to  another  design.     The  walls  and  ceiling  have  got  very 


838  ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 

dirty — one  cannot  interrupt  work  and  have  things  shifted  for 
whitewashings  and  cleanings — cela  se  voit!  But  then  very  soon 
other  people  don't  see  it;  nor  anything  else,  because  of  the  filth. 

Charles  and  Jeff,  having  smoked  and  chatted  in  the  room  ever 
since  we  were  here  last,  notice  no  change  at  all.  It  is,  to  them,  the 
first-floor  Studio  and  nothing  else.  It  has  no  qualifications.  Th9 
windows  have  been  cleaned  at  stated  intervals,  and  the  floor 
scrubbed,  and  what  more  do  you  want?  The  unreachable  zones 
of  the  ceiling  have  some  cobwebs  all  to  themselves ;  and  as  Charles 
objects  to  Mrs.  Corrigan,  the  present  chargee  d'affaires,  standing 
on  the  top  of  a  pair  of  equivocal  steps  and  stretchin'  up  a  broom 
just  to  move  the  worst  of  the  dust,  the  said  worst  thickens  and 
blackens  and  floats,  well  out  of  reach;  but  is  regarded  for  all  that 
as  temporary  per  se,  though  fortuitously  permanent.  Probably  it 
imderstands  human  nature,  and  rejoices  at  Mrs.  Corrigan's  in- 
creasing unsteadiness  from  beer.  Both  it  and  the  dust  are  part 
of  the  existing  order  of  things,  and  Charles  has  acquired  a  com- 
plete ignorance  of  the  existence  of  both. 

"The  boy's  going  down  to  St.  Leonards  to-morrow.  Payne  says 
he  won't  be  very  badly  marked.  You  see,  he's  young."  Of  course 
it  is  Charles  who  speaks.  Jeff  nods  in  a  way  that  says,  "You  will 
see  that  all  my  optimistic  prophecies  will  be  confirmed."  He  pur- 
sues the  same  line  in  words. 

"Nobody's  caught  it  neither !  What  did  I  tell  you  ?  It's  all  rah- 
bish  about  infection  when  you're  properly  vaccinated.  You  ask 
my  wife!" — For  ever  since  Miss  Dorothea  Prynne  became  Mrs. 
Jeff,  about  a  year  after  Charles's  rash  and  unfortunate  marriage, 
she  has  been  referred  to  by  her  husband  as  a  well  of  accuracy  unde- 
filed.  He  throws  truth  and  falsehood  into  hotchpot,  and  redivides 
the  mixture  into  what  Mrs.  Jeff  says  is  true,  and  what  she  con- 
demns as  false. 

"Well!  You're  right  so  far,  Jeff,  but  we're  not  out  of  the  wood 
yet!" 

"Now  you'll  be  foomigated,  my  boy !  And  stripped  and  all  your 
clothes  burnt.  And  squirted  all  over  disinfectants.  Dolly  says 
they  always  do."    And  Jeff  is  quite  satisfied  that  this  is  the  case. 

"I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  do  something.  But  it's  not  so  bad 
as  all  that.  I  shan't  be  sorry  though  to  have  a  clean  bill  of  health 
again." 

"Miss  Kavanagh's  going  with  him  to  the  sea-side?"  This  is  a 
statement,  so  far  as  confidence  in  an  affirmative  answer  goes — a 
question,  so  far  as  no  such  confidence  is  warranted.  Charles's 
answer  accepts  the  latter  form. 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  339 

"Why,  no! — ^Alice  is  gone  already." 

"Gone  already?" 

"Gone  to  some  friends  at  Chelverhurst,  wherever  that  is,  to  get  a 
thorough  change  of  air — some  friends  of  Peggy's.  My  hrother-in- 
law  advised  it — thought  she  couldn't  have  a  complete  change  too 
soon.  In  fact  when  I  went  home  yesterday  I  found  it  had  all  been 
settled  in  a  hurry  and  she  had  gone  off,  leaving  the  Sister  and 
Sarah-cook  to  see  to  Pierre." 

"Oh,  I  see." 

"Sister  Eulalie's  to  come  down  to  St.  Leonards  with  us  to-mor- 
row. I  shall  stop  there  long  enough  to  see  things  are  going  on  all 
right,  and  then  I  must  get  back  to  work  again.  This  sort  of  thing 
won't  do." 

"Work  reg'lar  upset!"  Jeff  sympathises  with  the  position.  He 
is  prepared  to  go  any  lengths  of  insincerity  in  his  lamentations 
over  the  hardship  of  being  dragged  away  from  one's  work.  He 
sees  consolation  ahead  though.  "Never  mind,  old  chap!  You'll 
work  all  the  better  when  you  do  get  to  it  again." 

Charles  jumps  at  the  pleasant  chance  of  self-deception  that  is 
offered  him :  "Yes,  I  know  that  is  so !  There's  nothing  like  a  little 
compulsory  idleness." 

"Best  thing  in  the  world,"  says  the  optimist.  "You  go  away  to 
the  sea  for  a  week,  Charley.  And  you'll  come  back  a  giant  re- 
freshed.    See  if  you  don't!" 

"I  shall  be  all  the  better  for  it." — Charles  is  temperate — speaks 
with  reserve.  He  would  have  been  better  pleased  to  have  the 
fiction  toned  down  to  his  powers  of  pretence.  The  giant  refreshed 
has  stuck  in  the  gizzard  of  his  credulity.  He  thinks  of  suggesting 
a  duffer  refreshed,  as  an  amendment ;  but  shrinks  from  the  egotism 
of  humility.    Better  change  the  subject! 

"I  shall  have  to  have  a  regular  good  overhauling  of  all  my  mate- 
rials— they're  in  a  fearful  mess.  Just  look  at  that  box !" — The  box 
strikes  us  as  familiar — for  we  are  not  conscious  of  the  time  we  have 
sli;ipped;  the  sixteen-year  interim.  Our  knowledge  of  that  box  is 
as  of  yesterday.    Jeff  knows  all  about  it  though. 

"What  a  queer  old  card  he  was  to  be  sure,  to  leave  it  to  you — 
just  because  you  gave  him  some  Asphaltum!  Do  you  believe  it 
was  Reynolds's,  Charley?" 

"Not  the  box.  Hardly!  He  only  swore  to  some  little  bladders 
of  colour.  I  never  found  them.  And  what's  so  funny  is  that 
what's-his-name — don't  you  know  ? — the  man  that  had  this  house — 
whose  daughter  .Verrinder  was  in  love  with — what  was  his 
name  ?" 


340  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

"Oh,  I  know,  perfectly  well!  Sneathly — Crapewell — Lampwick 
— I  shall  remember  directly " 

"Well — never  mind!  That  chap,  anyhow!  He  must  have  used 
this  box  a  hundred  times  in  this  very  room." 

Jeff  looks  round  a  little  uncomfortably.  "More  ghostises !"  says 
he.  Charles  remarks,  with  the  slightest  sound  of  injury  in  his 
tone,  "Well,  Jeff!  There  haven't  been  any  more  ghosts  for  ever 
so  long.  Years  and  years!  Come  now!" — He  doesn't  feel  he  can 
be  accused  of  Psychical  Research,  this  time!  He  goes  on  ex- 
culpatorily :  "The  last  one  was  seven  years  ago  at  least ;  the  woman 

the  boy  saw "    He  stops  dead,  and  Jeff  disclaims  connection 

with  this  event.    "I  wasn't  here,"  he  says. 

But  he  knows  why  Charles  stopped,  and  of  the  incident.  Told 
briefly,  it  was  that  on  one  occasion,  when  Charles's  wife  was  at 
the  Studio  with  the  boy  Pierre,  the  latter,  being  then  a  child  of 
five  or  six  years  old,  had  looked  a  good  deal  at  an  empty  chair, 
and  afterwards  had  asked  who  the  lady  who  laughed  was,  who  was 
sitting  in  it.  Jeff  knew  that  what  stopped  Charles  in  his  allusion  to 
this  incident  was,  not  only  that  it  involved  his  wife  (for  they 
had  frequently  conversed  about  her,  and  Charles  was  rather  easy 
in  his  confidences  with  Jeff),  but  that  there  was  another  person  in 
the  room  at  the  time,  the  man  Lowenstern,  whom  Mrs.  Charles 
had  subsequently  eloped  with.  It  had  been  his  first  introduction 
and  could  not  but  be  an  unwelcome  recollection. 

Charles's  stumbling  into  this  line  of  thought  jerks  the 
conversation  out  of  its  groove;  and  Jeff,  who  has  been  for 
some  time  on  the  watch  to  ask  a  question,  makes  this  stumble 
of  Charles,  of  which  both  are  perfectly  conscious,  an  excuse 
for  it. 

"What's  become  of  her,  Charley  ?" 

Charles  lays  down  a  pipe,  not  half -smoked,  on  the  easel-ledge. 
This  is  an  uncommon  thing  for  any  smoker  to  do.  He  goes  to 
the  window  and  looks  out,  or  makes  believe  to.  Jeff  follows  him, 
with  concern  on  his  face.  He  places  his  hand — slightly  slaps  it — 
on  to  Charles's  shoulder,  and  leaves  it  there. 

"Dead?"  he  asks  abruptly.  He  is  more  in  Charles's  confidence 
than  any  man;  on  this  subject  more  even  than  Rupert.  The  lat- 
ter's  impatient  indignation  against  Charles's  wife  bars  free  inter- 
course between  them.  Charles  wants  no  discordant  note  to  clash 
with  his  own  chivalry.  He  cannot  bear  to  hear  her  condemned. 
Jeff's  simplicity  of  character,  combined  with  a  large-hearted  claim 
to  Sin,  made  in  order  that  he  may  depute  the  stone-throwing  to  a 
Public  whose  virtue  he  acknowledges,  makes  his  blunt  speech  often 


ALICE-FOR-SHOKT  341 

welcome  to  Charles,  where  a  tact  he  makes  no  pretension  to  would 
have  been  wasted. 

"Dead?"  he  repeats.  *1  see." — For  Charles  makes  no  reply. 
Both  go  back,  and  Charles  takes  up  his  pipe  again.  He  doesn't 
ipind  talking  about  her. 

"Of  course,"  says  he,  "she  herself  really  died  long  ago.  But  the 
woman  she  changed  into  is  dead  now.  She  died  somewhere  abroad. 
Baden-Baden  I  think  it  was." 

"That's  all  very  well,  old  chap!  But  you  don't  really  think 
that.    People  ain't  somebody  else " 

"That's  a  very  common  mistake,  Jeff  dear.  I  know  that  a  popu- 
lar belief  exists,  to  that  effect.  But  recent  investigations  have 
shown " 

"Gammon!" — This  comes  so  explicitly  that  Charles  feels  he 
won't  get  a  hearing  for  a  view  he  seriously  holds  unless  he  drops 
the  popular  lecturer,  and  speaks  by  the  light  of  his  own  belief. 

"I  mean  what  I  say.  There  are  plenty  of  extreme  cases  of  double 
consciousness — of  people  who  have  spoken  only  French  in  one 
state  and  Dutch  in  the  other,  and  so  forth — who  have  been  two 
different  people  at  different  times,  in  fact." 

"And  then  when  one  of  them  pizoned  you,  you  wouldn't  'ang  the 
other — is  that  it,  Charley?" 

"As  to  hanging,  that's  the  Judge's  business.  But  I  shouldn't 
think  harshly  of  the  other,  if  I  thought  it  was  a  case  of  double 
identity.  There  must  be  plenty  of  cases  of  change  that  don't 
go  quite  so  far,  but  where  it  can  hardly  be  said  to  be  the  same 
person." 

"Must  there  ?  I  can't  see  my  way  to  half-and-half.  According  to 
my  idear,  Charley,  identity's  got  a  sharp  edge  all  round.  You're 
either  me  or  somebody  else.  All  the  same,  your  idear  is  'andy  for 
Polly-ogamists,  or  whatever  you  call  'em." 

Vague  sketches  cross  Jeff's  mind  of  questions  he  would  like  to 
ask,  such  as: — Has  Mrs.  Corrigan  two  identities:  one  a  mid- 
weekly  state  laying  claim  to  sobriety,  the  other  a  Saturdaily  state 
convincing  of  beer?  Or,  did  the  late  Mrs.  Charles's  second  indi- 
viduality begin  to  ooze  through  her  on  that  day  when  Baron  Von 
Lowenstern  was  brought  into  the  Studio  by  Herr  Bauerstein  and 
casually  introduced  to  the  Artist's  wife?  Had  he  asked  this  last 
question  of  Charles,  the  reply  must  have  been  that  this  was  not 
her  very  first  fluctuation  of  identity,  of  a  nature  to  accommodate 
Polygamists,  or  whatever  we  call  them. 

But  he  asked  no  such  questions  and  poor  Charley  was  spared 
more  reminders  of  that  painful  time,  and  forced  to  no  further 


Si2  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

excuse-mongering;  which,  however  loyal  his  effort,  rang  false 
even  in  his  own  ears.  Even  what  had  been  said  had  recalled  to 
him  how  on  that  morning  his  wife  had  come  down  to  the  Studio 
for  money,  although  he  had  told  her  he  could  not  overdraw  at  the 
Bank,  but  that  he  knew  Rupert  would  help  him  again.  And  how 
Rupert  signed  a  blank  cheque  for  him  that  evening,  and  he  filled 
it  in  with  a  fifty,  and  gave  his  wife  half  next  day.  And  how 
there  were  strained  relations  between  them,  and  she  went  away 
for  a  week  to  her  mother.  And  how  all  the  rest  you  know,  or  may 
guess  came  to  pass,  including  how  it  was  "elicited"  on  the  trial 
that  a  cheque  of  Baron  Lowenstern's  for  £100  payable  to  Mrs.  C 
Heath,  had  been  part  cashed,  part  taken  in  settlement  of  an 
account,  by  a  Bond  Street  dressmaker's  firm  at  about  that  date. 

However,  Jeff  did  not  pursue  the  subject,  and  Charles,  after 
musing  a  little,  seemed  to  give  up  the  point.  For  he  said  pres- 
ently, "I  suppose  what  I  really  meant  was  that  she  became  some 
one  else  to  me.  So  she  did — quite  another  person.  If  I  had  met 
her,  it  would  have  been  a  stranger — not  my  boy's  mother.  She 
died  long  ago,  to  all  intents  and  purposes.  But  I  would  rather 
she  had  done  it  outright." 

When  you  want  to  get  away  from  a  subject,  and  not  to  seem  to 
do  so,  your  best  course  is  to  hark  back  to  a  previous  stage  of  the 
conversation,  with  a  view  to  turning  off  the  road  at  some  point  you 
have  noted  en  passant.  The  presence  of  Herr  Bauerstein  a  little 
while  since  would  have  done  to  entdmer  a  subject  Charles  had 
wished  to  speak  of,  but  he  didn't  want  to  revive  the  obnoxious 
appearance  of  the  Baron  on  the  scene;  so  he  got  clear  back  to  the 
first  start: 

"Let's  see!  What  were  we  talking  of?  Poor  old  Verrinder'a 
colour-box.  Has  Bauerstein  sold  the  Turner  yet?  You  know  he 
had  a  big  offer  for  it?  I  heard  of  it  just  before  this  illness.'* 
But  Jeff  hasn't  heard.  He  is  not  in  the  way  of  hearing  these 
things  now,  as  he  was  in  old  times.  He  lives  at  Abbey  Road, 
St.  John's  Wood,  and  has  his  Studio  in  the  house.  He  is  a  fre- 
quent visitor  at  Charles's  house  when  there  is  no  barrier — hence  his 
rather  uncommon  presence  at  the  old  place  to-day.  "Do  you 
know,  Jeff,"  Charles  continues,  "I'm  in  two  minds  if  I  won't  have 
Phyllis  Cartwright  cleaned  after  all!  I'm  sure  the  hand  would 
come  out  bright,  and  we  should  see  the  stones — by-the-bye  I've 
never  told  you  we  found  out  about  the  name  on  the  ring."  And 
he  tells  the  whole  story  of  the  cab-drive  and  the  mysterious  well- 
informed  driver.  Whereupon  Jeff  says  hookey — that  was  a  rum 
start!     It  is  surprising  how  little  he  has  changed  in  the  sixteen 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  343 

years.  There  is  nothing  in  him  that  corresponds  to  the  settled 
sadness  that  had  come  upon  Charles.  He  is  cheerful  and  means 
to  be  corpulent  one  day,  but  has  only  just  announced  the  fact. 
Otherwise  his  differences  are  negligible. 

"I'll  come  in  and  have  another  look  at  her  when  you're  open 
to  the  public  again."    Thus  Jeff,  referring  to  the  portrait. 

"She  isn't  at  the  house.  I've  had  her  brought  down  here.  She's 
in  the  back  room."  He  gets  up  and  leads  the  way  into  the  back 
room,  where  he  used  to  sleep  in  the  days  of  early  Bohemianism. 
The  shutters  are  closed,  and  a  long  ray  of  light  streams  through 
a  heart-shaped  hole  in  the  top,  and  makes  a  solid  bar  of  illuminated 
dust  across  the  room,  in  which  flies  and  strange  floating  things 
come  and  go  all  day.  The  space  is  half -choked  with  accumulating 
rubbish,  and  is  hot  with  the  heat  of  summer  and  unopened  win- 
dows. A  recent  fall  of  soot  hasn't  improved  the  atmosphere,  and 
provokes  an  admission  that  we  must  have  the  Sweep.  When  he  has- 
done  his  worst,  Mrs.  Corrigan,  who  is  straining  at  the  leash,  will 
be  unloosed,  and  will  do  the  whole  place  thoroughly  out.  Only 
she  is  so  careless  she  is  sure  to  break  something.  Charles  has  a 
touching  belief  in  the  existence  of  intact  valuables  in  the  gloom. 
It  dates  from  the  last  time  he  stowed  some  bric-a-brac  of  his  wife's 
away,  to  keep  it  safe.  Since  which,  seven  years  ago,  little  enough 
has  been  seen  of  that  room  and  its  contents.  It  is  a  chapel  of 
ease  to  the  congregation  of  lumber  in  the  front  one,  and  it  is  not 
often  that  anything  that  finds  it  way  here  is  sought  for  again  and 
brought  out  into  the  light.  Phyllis  Cartwright  is  an  exception, 
owing  to  Jeff's  visit  and  the  accidental  turn  of  the  conversation. 

"Let's  have  her  out  in  the  next  room  and  get  a  good  look  at  her. 
Those  shutters  are  a  bother  to  open."  Thus  Charles;  and  Phyllis 
is  conveyed  into  the  Studio  proper,  and  placed  on  an  easel.  He 
sits  down  in  front  of  her,  and  moistens  the  chilled  varnish  that 
obscures  her  hand. 

"What  was  that  picture  of  a  chap  with  a  sword?"  It  is  Jeff 
who  asks  this  question.  He  got  a  look  round  at  the  chapel  of  ease. 
But  every  one  in  a  lumber  room  always  is  interested  in  something 
that  sticks  out,  and  it  doesn't  do  to  indulge  his  curiosity  too 
much.    Maybe  Charles  thinks  so,  for  he  pays  little  attention. 

"I  thought  so,  Jeff.  Look  herel  If  I  rub  a  little  oil  on,  just 
to  show!  There! — there  you  are!  What  picture  of  a  chap  with 
a  sword  ?"  Jeff  looks  at  Phyllis  Cartwright's  hand,  and  deals  with 
it  before  replying. 

"That  hand,  and  the  finger  with  the  ring  on  it  would  come  out 
quite  bright  and  clear  if  you  gave  it  to  what's-his-name — Bauer* 


344  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

stein's  man — to  do.  .  .  .  What  picture? — Why,  that  one  the  light 
was  strildn'  on — just  in  front  as  you  go  in."  But  Charles  is 
intent  upon  Phyllis.  "Bracchi — that's  his  name!  He  shall  have 
it  to-morrow."  Charles  is  very  decisive  now  and  then.  But  he 
reconsiders,  this  time. — "Only  I  suppose  he'll  catch  smallpox  from 
it  now.  Better  wait  a  week  or  so  ...  I  don't  know  which  picture 
you  mean.    Man  with  a  sword?" 

"That  chap  in  a  George  the  Second  dress, — deep  crimson  coat, 
a  waistcoat  and  a  half,  and  tie-wig, — with  a  drawn  rapier  in  his 
hand — straight  in  front  as  you  go  in." 

"You've  got  Queen  Anne  on  the  brain,  JefF."  But  for  all  that 
the  attention  of  both  is  attracted,  so  to  speak,  to  their  own  conver- 
sation, and  it  is  promoted  from  the  status  of  chat  to  that  of  active 
interest.  "There  is  no  chap  in  a  Queen  Anne  dress."  Charles 
is  quite  positive  on  the  point. 

"I'll  show  it  you,"  says  Jeff,  and  they  return  to  the  back  room. 
"Just  here!  .  .  .  Well!  that's  rum  too."  And  stands  puzzled.  For 
there,  where  Jeff  expected  to  find  it,  is  a  picture  certainly.  But 
it  is,  quite  distinctly,  the  Three  Graces ;  an  old  picture  of  Charles's 
that  he  means  to  have  out  again  and  go  on  with,  some  day. 

"Well,  I'm  blowed!"  says  Jeff.  And  Charles  appears  rather 
blowed  too.  But  very  soon  optical  delusion  comes  to  the  rescue,  and 
properties  of  refraction  and  polarised  light  not  classified,  so  far,  by 
scientists.  And  Charles  and  Jeff  think  no  more  about  it;  and 
presently  the  latter  takes  his  leave,  scattering  his  path  as  he  goes 
with  reassurance  about  smallpox  on  the  authority  of  his  wife, 
who  is  able  it  appears  to  vouch  for  several  cases  within  her  own 
experience,  where  smallpox  has  proved  rather  an  advantage  than 
otherwise,  clearing  the  blood  of  vital  organisms  of  a  diabolical 
nature,  and  above  all  things  improving  the  complexion. 

Charles,  left  alone,  falls  back  into  thinking  how  dull  the  house 
will  be  without  Alice  when  he  goes  back,  but  for  all  that  how  nice 
it  is  of  those  friends  of  Peggy's  at  Ewhurst  to  have  her  so  soon 
after  the  illness — however,  Rupert  knows  all  about  it;  so  it  must 
be  all  right.  She  was  looking  dreadfully  pale  and  tired  yesterday, 
and  now  she'll  come  back  her  old  self.    It  won't  be  long. 

Alas,  for  Alice's  little  scheme  for  Charles's  prosperity  and  happi- 
ness! He  hasn't  a  thought  for  Lady  Anstruther  Paston-Forbes. 
And  as  for  his  late  wife — ^well !  she  did  die  seven  years  ago,  "to  all 
intents  and  purposes." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

HOW  CHARLES  WENT  TO  THE  ALPS,  AND  FOUND  THEM  THERE  STILL. 
BACK  IN  ENGLAND  AND  OFF  TO  SHELLACOMBE.  BUT  NO  ALICE.  HOW 
ST.  FOB  HAD  A  GAP,  AND  MR.  WILKINSON  WAS  CURED  WITH  RAT'S 
BLOOD  AND  TREACLE.  OF  A  LETTER  UNDER  A  CARPET,  AND  ITS  UGHT 
ON  AN  ESCAPADE  OF  ALICE's.     HOW  THE  PICNIC  CAME  HOME 

It  was  pleasant  cool  July  weather  when  Charles  and  Sister 
Eulalie,  now  fully  christened  Mrs.  Prig,  took  their  convalescent 
down  to  St.  Leonards  to  recruit.  It  was  nothing  like  so  hot  as  that 
celebrated  Autumn  when  Alice  so  nearly  ended  her  days  in  the  sea 
at  Shellacombe.  But  it  was  very  pleasant  for  all  that,  and  when 
Charles  had  seen  Mrs.  Prig  and  his  son  comfortably  provided  for, 
he  returned,  not  without  reluctance,  to  London,  and  surrendered 
his  house  into  the  hands  of  properly  vaccinated  upholsterers  (who 
had  taken),  and  who  almost  came  up  to  the  standard  hinted  at  by 
Jeff,  and  sustained  by  his  wife's  authority.  For  they  ripped  up 
everything,  and  pulled  down  everything,  and  wrapped  up  every- 
thing that  was  to  be  taken  away  and  burned,  in  sheets  saturated 
with  Carbolic  lotion.  And  there  followed  in  their  wake  an  army 
of  equally  well-vaccinated  painters,  plasterers,  and  paper-hangers, 
under  whose  auspices  stripping,  clear-coating,  and  repainting  ran 
riot,  hand-in-hand  with  Carbolic  Acid,  over  the  whole  house. 
Charles  hung  about  the  premises  to  protect  them  from  the  germ- 
destroyer,  and  secure  a  residuum  of  his  property  for  future  use. 
While  the  tempest  of  disinfection  raged  he  camped  as  a  Bohemian 
at  the  Studio;  armed,  he  said,  with  a  medical  Certificate  that  no 
germ  had  been  detected  on  him  by  the  most  powerful  miscroscope. 
He  absolutely  refused  to  go  near  Harley  Street,  or  see  a  living  soul 
of  his  belongings  there  until  he  should  hare  had  a  good  run  abroad, 
or  somewhere  in  the  country. 

But  he  was  all  the  more  anxious  to  see  Alice  before  he  went  away, 
and  was  rather  puzzled  at  her  being  away  so  long.  Being  glad  she 
should  get  a  good  change  he  said  nothing  to  that  effect  even  to 
Rupert  when  he  came  to  see  him  at  the  Studio.  Peggy  wanted 
to  come,  but  he  begged  her  so  earnestly  not  to  do  so  that  she 
yielded.    It  was  to  be  nobody  but  Rupert  until  he  had  gone  away 

845 


846  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

and  got  quite  above  suspicion.  Why  he  took  it  for  granted  that 
any  self-respecting  germ  would  avoid  his  brother-in-law  he  could 
not  have  said;  but  so  it  was ! 

"I've  got  my  nostrils  so  full  of  Carbolic  Acid,"  said  he,  "that  I 
smell  it  everywhere.  Even  this  letter  from  Alice,  just  fresh  from 
the  country,  seems  to  me  to  smell  of  it." 

"One  gets  these  fancies,"  replied  Sir  Rupert.  But  when  Charles 
turned  away,  he  picked  up  the  letter  and  smelt  it. 

"Alice  seems  very  well,"  Charles  went  on;  "when  does  Peggy 
expect  her  back  ?    Of  course  the  longer  she  stays  the  better." 

"The  longer  the  better.  And  the  longer  holiday  you  take  the 
better,  I  should  say.  You  go  away  to-morrow,  Charley.  Leave 
everything  in  my  hands.    You  can  trust  me." 

"Of  course  I  can,  Dr.  Jomson.  But  I  should  have  liked  to  see 
'Alice  before  I  go." 

"What  for?" 

"No  particular  reason.    Just  a  fancy !" 

"You  can't  do  any  work  now,  and  you  know  it.  Much  better  use 
up  the  spoiled  time  in  getting  some  health.  Go  to  Switzerland  for 
a  month  and  get  really  set  up."  Charles  felt  pleasure  from  the 
implication  that  his  work  would  have  reality  and  value  when  he 
returned.  He  believed  under  the  skin  in  his  own  estimate  of  its 
worth.  But  still,  it  was  reassuring  to  walk  over  the  ashes  and  pre- 
tend the  warmth  of  the  ignes  suppositi  did  not  reach  his  feet.  He 
was  grateful  to  Rupert  for  the  way  he  made  his  suggestion,  and 
classed  the  moraines  of  glaciers  as  stepping-stones  to  pictures  on 
the  line  at  the  R.  A.  So — after  a  little  more  demur  because  he  felt 
that  somehow  he  should  like  Alice  to  be  ratified  before  his  depart- 
ure, though  he  couldn't  analyse  the  feeling — he  packed  up  and 
found  himself  in  due  course  looking  at  the  bridge  of  boats  at 
Cologne,  and  admitting  to  himself  what  an  inroad  on  his  health 
the  events  of  the  last  two  months  had  made;  as  one  does  when  the 
holiday  has  really  come,  and  one  can  allow  the  artificial  tension 
to  slack  down.  He  waited  till  he  got  letters  from  his  sister  and 
Alice,  and  also  from  his  son  and  Sister  Eulalie  at  St.  Leonards. 
He  found  these  warranted  ease  of  mind,  and  indulged  in  it ;  and  by 
the  time  he  got  to  Lucerne,  in  two  rather  tedious  railway  journeys, 
he  was  beginning  to  feel  that  he  had  done  the  best  thing  in  taking 
his  brother-in-law's  advice — and  probably,  he  found  himself  adding, 
for  Alice  and  his  boy  also.  But  he  was  rather  vague  about  the 
exact  nature  of  the  benefit  his  absence  would  confer,  and  sus- 
pected he  was  taking  a  mean  advantage,  and  assuming  it  on  insuffi- 
cient grounds  for  purposes  of  self -justification.    You  see,  he  was  a 


ALICE-FOR-SHOKT  347 

little  addicted  to  over-indulgence  in  self-analysis.  It  is  a  vice 
that  develops  under  conditions  of  shaken  nerves  and  health  below 
par,  and  is  none  the  weaker  from  disappointment  and  frustrated 
purpose. 

It  vanishes  among  the  Alps,  at  any  rate  if  you  climb  them. 
Charles  was  caught  up  at  Lucerne  by  a  robust  party  of  young 
mountaineers,  who  prevailed  upon  him  to  accompany  them  up  a 
very  insignificant  peak  whose  name  we  have  forgotten.  As  he 
stood  on  its  summit  looking  at  a  sunset  that  was  bathing  the 
world  of  glaciers  in  prismatic  light  on  one  side,  and  down  on  the 
deep,  cool  crystal  of  the  darkening  lake  below  on  the  other,  and 
afar  to  the  huge  still  peaks  against  the  sky,  serene  in  their  confi- 
dence of  to-morrow's  dawn,  self-analysis  fell  away  into  the  back- 
ground. And  when  he  woke  at  a  chalet  next  day,  after  fifteen 
hours'  continuous  sleep,  and  found  that  his  young  friends  had  for- 
saken him  to  ascend  one  of  the  monsters  he  had  seen  against  the 
sun,  leaving  instructions  that  he  was  on  no  account  to  be  waked, 
self-analysis  was  as  good  as  dead.  He  did  not  wait  for  the  return 
of  the  mountaineers,  but  went  on  to  the  next  place  he  expected 
letters  at ;  and  then,  being  reassured  by  them,  and  unstimulated  by 
other  mountaineers,  passed  a  pleasant  three  weeks  in  humble 
pedestrianism  from  town  to  town,  and  one  or  two  most  unam- 
bitious ascents  of  peaks  of  a  commodious  size,  suited  to  his  aspi- 
rations. Then,  feeling  entirely  renewed,  but  always  with  a  sense 
on  him  that  he  had  been  keeping  away  in  order  to  be  renewed,  and 
that  he  mustn't  do  so  much  longer,  he  came  back  and  perceived  that 
things  English  were  very  undersized,  and  it  would  take  him  some 
time  to  live  himself  into  his  groove  again. 

But  he  broke  the  shock  of  re-entry  into  the  stinted  life  and 
grudged  spaces  of  London  by  going  first  to  St.  Leonards,  and  taking 
his  boy  and  Mrs.  Prig  a  long  drive  to  Eastbourne.  The  sweep  of 
the  channel  wind  over  the  flats  of  Pevensey  and  Hurstmonceaux, 
the  incessant  hushed  music  of  the  sea  that  never  tires  of  its  ebb 
and  flow,  the  cry  of  the  sea-bird  that  has  never  paused  since  the 
ancestors  of  all  the  persons  of  condition  in  England  came  over  and 
overwhelmed  Gurth — (at  least  we  understand  that  this  is  His- 
tory) ; — all  these  things,  and  the  example  of  content  with  them 
shovim  by  the  black  cattle  on  the  flats,  seemed  to  contain  the 
essence  of  a  pause — a  blank  of  silence — an  empty  leaf  to  rest  the 
mind  on  between  the  chapter  about  the  Matterhorn  and  that — 
well !  about  Brewster  Sessions  and  Tied  Houses,  suppose  we  say — 
anything  of  that  sort ! 

Mrs.  Prig  hadn't  seen  Alice,  of  course.    But  she  had  had  plenty 


348  ALICE-FOE-SIIORT 

of  letters — also  of  course.  Whereupon  Charles  thought  to  himself 
that  if  that  was  to  be  of  course  too,  Mrs.  Gamp  and  Mrs.  Prig 
must  have  gone  into  very  close  alliance  in  a  very  short  time.  Very 
young  school-girls  do  that  on  the  spot ;  without  the  acceleration  of 
fighting  first,  like  their  future  lords  and  masters,  or  slaves.  But 
after  all,  these  ladies  were  grown  up,  especially  Mrs.  Prig.  How- 
ever, she  only  produced  one  letter,  so  perhaps  it  was  a  lapsus 
lingucB.  The  letter  was  quite  satisfactory.  And  we  were  going 
home  to-morrow.     And  we  went. 

Charles  was  conscious  of  a  good  deal  of  impatience  to  see  Peggy 
again  after  his  long  separation,  and  vexation  that  he  should  not 
find  her  at  once  at  Harley  Street.  Naturally  she  and  all  her  young 
brood  had  taken  flight  and  were  basking  on  the  sea-beach.  They 
had  this  year  gone,  after  several  seasons  of  Scotland  and  the 
Lakes,  to  their  old  quarters  at  Shellacombe,  which  had  grown,  and 
become  quite  a  large  watering-place,  to  Peggy's  great  disgust. 
Charles  was  vexed  at  having  still  a  long  journey  before  him  next 
day,  and  was  very  distrait  on  his  way  up  from  St.  Leonards,  giv- 
ing only  partial  attention  to  incidents  on  the  route.  He  was  pre- 
occupied with  his  own  thoughts,  and  remained  so  until  he  reached 
home  and  the  accumulations  of  unforwarded  correspondence  and 
parcels  demanded  attention,  and  a  beautiful  new  Experimental 
Chemical  Chest  for  Pierre  from  Aunt  Peggy  called  for  s:yTiipathy, 
which  could  not  be  denied  to  such  delicious  stoppered  bottles  and 
porcelain  capsules  and  spirit-lamps. 

Charles  was  not  a  little  disconcerted,  on  his  arrival,  at  a  letter 
from  Alice  telling  him  not  to  be  surprised  if  he  didn't  find  her 
at  Shellacombe.  Why,  the  family  had  been  nearly  a  month  at  the 
sea,  and  surely  Alice  wanted  the  sea-air  as  much  as  any  of  them! 
Besides,  fancy  Shellacombe  and  no  Alice!  It  seemed  absurd. 
But  Alice  said  she  should  come  in  a  day  or  two,  as  soon  as  her 
friends,  where  she  was,  would  let  her  go.  Well!  that  seemed  all 
right  too.  Fancy  any  one  who  had  got  Alice  wanting  to  be  rid 
of  her ! 

Then  a  thought  came  into  his  mind — was  it,  at  last,  Mr.  Alice? 
Was  it,  at  last,  some  one  Alice  was  not  prepared  to  say  no  to — 
some  one  she  was  thinking  of  saying  yes  to?  He  welcomed  the 
thought  mechanically.  He  had  so  often  said  to  himself  that  he 
should  rejoice  when  this  came  to  pass,  that  it  would  never  do  to 
be  behind  now.  Oh  dear,  yes!  That  would  be  delightful.  How 
pleased  Peggy  would  be! 

He  found  the  pleasure  Peggy  was  going  to  feel  facilitated  mat- 


ALICE-FOK-SHOET  349 

ters.  He  was  able  to  let  his  stand  over  for  a  while  to  make  way  for 
it.  There  couldn't  be  the  smallest  shadow  of  doubt  about  its 
existence — but  then,  of  course,  he  wasn't  going  to  begin  ringing, 
joy-bells  until  he  knew  something  about  the  chap,  if  it  was  a  chap. 
But  there  now !  He  knew  all  about  it.  It  always  was  a  chap,  when 
girls  went  to  stay  at  country-houses  and  couldn't  be  got  back  to 
their  sorrowing  relations.  He  had  known  the  same  thing  happen  a 
hundred  times.  He  said  this  to  himself  with  confidence,  without 
reflecting  that  he  had  probably  not  been  acquainted  with  a  cool 
hundred  of  marriageable  young  ladies  in  the  whole  course  of  his 
existence.     Few  of  us  have,  at  forty-one. 

He  acquired  a  sudden  interest — it  was  odd  he  had  not  felt  it 
before — in  "c/o  Mrs.  Wintringham,  The  Manor  House,  Chelver- 
hurst,  Surrey."  Who  was  <'/o  Mrs.  Wintringham  ?  He  cast  about 
in  his  mind  to  think  which  circle  of  Peggy's  friends  she  would  be 
found  among.  He  succeeded  in  fancying  she  must  be  a  Miss 
Constance  Batley,  who  had  married  a  squire  with  a  park — of 
whom  nothing  else  was  reported  to  distinguish  him  from  his  fellow- 
creatures.  That  was  it,  for  certain!  They  had  picnics  in  that 
park — picnics  in  parks  always  brought  about  general  engage- 
ments. Charles  felt  vain  of  his  penetration.  But  he  was  going 
to  keep  his  raptures  under  until  he  knew  that  the  chap  was  a  very 
nice  chap  indeed.  Of  course  they  would  come,  when  called  on ;  but 
he  should  be  rather  difficult  to  satisfy  in  respect  of  Mr.  Alice-for- 
short.     There  wasn't  another  like  her  in  the  world,  and  it  would 

never  do  if But  the  if's  were  too  hideous  to  contemplate,  and 

Charles  brushed  them  aside  in  favour  of  asking  Sister  Eulalie 
about  what  "<'/o  Mrs.  Wintringham"  amounted  to.  He  had  to  let 
this  stand  over,  as  it  appeared  that  while  he  was  reading  his  letters 
upstairs  she  had  departed  to  catch  a  train  to  the  home  of  her  elder 
sister,  St.  Bridget,  after  shouting  good-bye  up  the  stairs  to  him, 
and  telling  him  not  to  come  down,  or  she  would  lose  it. 

So  when  repackings  and  adjustments  were  done  and  bedtime 
came,  Charles  paid  a  valedictory  visit  to  his  boy,  who  was  nice  in 
clean  sheets  and  a  clean  nightgown — boys  are,  you  know ! — and  was 
seated  on  his  pillow  embracing  his  knees  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  his 
current  fetish,  the  glorious  Chemical  Chest,  which  he  had  placed 
at  the  bed's  side  for  purposes  of  worship,  and  wanted  to  have 
candlelight  for  to  the  extent  of  a  six-to-the-pound,  not  a  quarter 
burned  through.  "Isn't  it  orfly  jolly?"  said  he,  and  withdrew  not 
his  gaze  from  the  idol.  Whereupon  his  father  captured  his  can41e, 
kissed  him,  and  went  away  to  bed. 

He  went  away,  and  left  to  himself  in  the  quiet  night,  felt  the 


350  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

old  sadness  come  on  him  again.  The  old  feeling  that  his  life  had 
gone  askew  from  the  beginning  and  that  it  was  too  late  now  to 
remedy  it.  The  memory  of  the  old  days  when,  rightly  or  wrongly, 
he  believed  in  that  boy's  mother — of  whom  he  spoke  truly  when  he 
said  she  had  been  dead,  to  him,  through  all  these  years  when  she 
was  living  her  successful  version  of  a  mistaken  life  with  some 
one  (or  more)  elsewhere.  The  sense  of  age — age  of  mind — age  of 
heart — in  a  frame  that  refused  to  acknowledge  any  substantial 
change.  For  he  was  obliged  to  admit  that  even  in  his  twenties  he 
would  have  overslept  himseK  after  that  climb  with  his  young 
friends  of  the  Alpine  Club,  and  could  never  have  regarded  it  as  a 
mere  preliminary  stretch  before  starting  for  the  Dent-du-Midi. 
His  mood  was  that  of  one  who,  feeling  so  old  at  heart  and  worn  in 
spirit,  was  little  in  love  with  his  own  vigour,  and  would  almost 
have  welcomed  grey  hairs  and  failing  muscle,  to  tell  the  truth  at 
the  door  about  the  inner  life  of  the  household.  It  was  a  natural 
feeling  under  the  circumstances,  but  perhaps  not  altogether  to  be 
jelied  on  to  last. 

Was  it  true  that  Shellacombe  had  become  quite  a  large  water- 
ing-place ?  The  little  unalterable  railway-station  at  Cleave  was  in 
statu-quo,  or  very  nearly.  Usually,  at  a  side-station  of  this  sort, 
when  the  neighbourhood  braces  itself  up  to  get  abreast  of  modern 
civilisation,  a  sordid  and  imbecile  horror  starts  from  the  earth  and 
proclaims  that  it  is  the  Railway  Hotel.  It  owns  a  pewter  bar 
floated  with  beer-slops;  and  if  you  enquire  of  a  chance  cretin, 
without  employment,  who  is  in  a  fatuous  apartment  labelled  Par- 
lour, whether  you  can  have  a  chop,  a  sandwich,  a  biscuit — with 
•each  its  due  allowance  of  grease,  fingermarks,  or  mould — he  will 
tell  you  to  arsk  at  this  same  pewter  bar,  and  you  will  shortly  find 
that  it  is  a  grove  with  no  Egeria — that  its  tutelary  genius  is  an 
Article  of  Faith,  and  that  no  amount  of  impatience  and  suggestive 
noises  will  cause  him  (or  her)  to  materialise.  No  such  instalment 
of  the  nightmare  of  prosperity  had  come  to  the  little  station  at 
Cleave,  The  roses  still  in  bloom  on  the  platform  fence,  and  the 
hollyhocks  and  dahlias  that  lined  the  approach  from  the  gate,  all 
enjoyed  a  sea-wind  untainted  so  far  by  anybody's  Entire.  And 
when  Charles  arrived  with  his  boy  by  an  afternoon  train,  he  found 
exactly  the  same  people  going  away  by  the  same  carriages,  the 
same  station-master  calling  attention  to  the  fact  that  he  was  really 
the  same  age,  by  the  collapse  of  an  attempt  at  a  grey  head,  and 
the  timidity  of  an  irresolute  corporation.  He  took  (to  all  appear- 
ance) the  same  waggonette  with  the  same  young  man  to  drive 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  351 

it.  He  gave  up  attempting  to  solve  suggested  problems  of  time 
and  change,  and  fell  back  on  the  memory  of  Alice  the  small,  and 
how  she  jumped  off  the  opposite  seat  onto  his  knee,  to  show  him 
how  little  her  face  was  burned  by  the  sun,  and  had  to  subside 
rebuked.  And  how  she  told  the  tale  of  the  rescue,  and  Dr.  Jom- 
son,  and  the  beetle.  Oh,  how  vividly  the  little  animated  face  came 
back  to  him,  after  all  those  years ! 

And  then  he  remembered  another  incident,  the  day  before  he 
went  away,  a  fool  to  a  foolish  marriage,  with  a  serene  face  and  an 
intoxicated  heart — the  incident  spoken  of  by  Peggy  at  Harley 
Street.  For  it  was  true  that  as  he  left  the  house,  the  child,  who 
had  been  very  silent  all  day,  and  under  imputation  of  stomach- 
ache, sprang  suddenly  into  his  arms,  and  strained  him  tightly, 
convulsively,  about  the  neck,  and  cried  aloud,  "Oh,  Mr.  Charley, 
Mr.  Charley,  don't  go  away  from  us.  Don't  go — don't  go !"  As  he 
sat  in  the  car,  and  thought  back  into  the  past,  he  could  feel  the  lit- 
tle arms  about  him  still.  Then  this  memory  revived  his  marriage, 
and  the  two  between  them  made  cross-cuts  in  his  heart.  And  he 
thought  on  into  the  early,  happier  years  of  his  married  life — stop- 
ping short,  by  a  great  effort,  on  the  threshold  of  the  clouded  time. 
He  was  glad  to  be  helped,  though,  by  the  plash  of  the  waves  and 
the  cry  of  the  birds,  when  the  sea-road  was  reached,  none  too  soon ! 

Nobody  at  the  house,  not  a  soul!  Unless,  indeed,  Handsworth 
and  the  cook  and  the  housemaid  were  souls.  Her  ladyship  and 
the  young  ladies  and  gentlemen  ("I  wish  he  would  say  missis  and 
the  children,"  thought  Charles)  had  gone  to  a  tea-picnic  at  St. 
Pob's  Gap.  For  St.  Fob  had  a  Gap,  and  they  always  had  hot-water 
at  the  boat  in  the  cliff.  Hence  picnics,  frequently.  Charles  would 
walk  out  that  way,  Handsworth — and  would  be  sure  to  meet  them 
coming  back,  though  of  course  her  Ladyship  would  drive  by  the 
road.  All  very  clear.  But  Charles  wouldn't  start  this  minute.  He 
and  his  boy  would  have  a  cup  of  tea  first  and  go  off  presently  across 
the  field-path;  they  wouldn't  be  coming  home  just  yet.  Charles 
knew  that,  broadly  speaking,  people  don't  come  home  from  picnics. 
Very  late,  and  with  great  difficulty,  they  may  be  goaded  home,  or 
coaxed  home.  But  if  it  is  fine  (and  just  look  at  that  big  yellow 
moon  rise  over  the  hill)  two  hours  late  is  the  earliest  to  expect 
them.     No  hurry! 

"I  say,  pater!" 

"What  do  you  say,  filius  ?  Only  don't  talk  with  your  mouth  f ulL 
A  thoughtless  world  will  condemn  you  as  greedy,  whereas  the 
reverse  is  the  case.  Clearly,  he  who  talks  with  his  mouth  full  pre- 
fers intellectual  intercourse  with  his  kind  to  mere  indulgence  in  the 


352  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

pleasures  of  the  table.  It  shows  the  supremacy  of  mind  over — for 
instance — white  bread,  rather  too  new,  and  much  better  fresh 
butter  than  one  ever  gets  in  town."  But  Pierre  has  detected 
a  classical  lapse  on  his  father's  part,  and  interrupts  him  with 
decision. 

"I  say,  that's  wrong !" 

"What's  wrong  ?" 

"Filius.    It's  vocative  fili.    Filius  fili  filium  filii  filio  filio " 

"I  believe  you  are  strictly  correct.  Pour  me  out  another  cup  and 
don't  spill  it.  Yes,  two  lumps  like  usually.  And  now  perhaps, 
vocative  fili,  you'll  say  what  you  say,  pater !" 

"Why,  there's  a  boy  at  school  whose  father's  a  Russian,  and  lives 
on  oil  and  live  fishes  and  bites  his  mother  when  they  quarrel.  He's 
oarfully  strong,  and  can  lick  coalheavers " 

"What  a  very  disagreeable  person !    What's  his  name  ?" 

"Wilkinson." 

"A  singular  name  for  a  Russian.  But  he  may  have  assumed  it 
to  disguise  his  nationality.  The  Russians  are,  I  understand,  a 
subtle  and  a  scheming  race." 

"Oh  yes — he's  a  Russian."  Pierre  continues  with  unshaken  con- 
fidence. "Besides,  he  can  turn  right  round  in  the  middle  and  not 
twist.  And  once  he  turned  round  and  couldn't  get  back.  And 
they  had  to  rub  him  with  rat's  blood  and  treacle." 

"And  then  he  came  round?" 

"Oh  yes — he  came  round  then."  Pierre's  faith  in  the  treatment  is 
touching.  His  father  wonders,  if  all  schoolboys  believe,  as  seems  to 
be  the  case,  all  the  wild  legends  their  schoolmates  tell  about  each 
other's  parents,  which  are  the  wicked  boys  who  make  them?  He 
gets  out  his  pipe  and  tobacco-bag. 

"Your  story,  Pierrot,  appears  credible  throughout,  with  one 
exception.  The  name  Wilkinson  seems  to  me  to  cast  doubt  on  all 
the  other  particulars,  which  are  in  accordance  with  what  we  know 
of  the  habits  of  Russians  generally.    But  Wilkinson !"  .  .  . 

"Well — you  ask  old  Butlin  if  his  name  isn't  Wilkinson!"  This 
was  his  schoolmaster. 

"Ah!  but  is  he  a  Russian — that's  the  point?  The  Muscovite  is 
essential.    Where's  the  matches?    All  mine  are  done." 

"Handsworth's  taken  them  away.  Look  here !  I'll  light  a  bit  of 
paper  at  the  urn."  And  Pierre  picks  up  an  accidental  half-letter, 
that  seems  on  the  drift,  to  make  a  spill  and  light  it  at  the  spirit- 
lamp  still  burning  under  the  tea-urn. 

"You're  a  man  of  resource,  Pierrot,"  his  father  says ;  "now  mind 
you  don't  set  yourself  on  fire!"    But  as  the  boy  begins  to  tear  a 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  353 

piece  off  to  make  the  spill,  he  interrupts  him.  "Stop  half-a-minute, 
old  man,"  he  says;  "let's  see  what  we're  tearing  up." 

"It's  Aunty  Lissy's  writing,"  says  the  observant  eleven-year-old; 
"it's  only  a  letter !" 

"Only  a  letter!  You're  a  nice  young  man."  But  Pierrot  is 
frightened,  for  his  father  has  barely  glanced  at  the  first  two  lines 
when  he  utters  what  would  have  been  a  cry  had  it  not  been 
checked.  "My  God !"  cries  he,  "fancy  that !" — And  he  almost  stag- 
gers; then  drops  back  on  a  sofa-seat  behind  him,  holding  the 
letter  grasped  on  his  knee  in  one  hand,  while  the  other  clenches 
tight  and  jerks  on  his  other  knee.  Pierrot  almost  begins  to  cry 
in  earnest. 

"Oh,  Papa — oh.  Papa — are  you  ill  ?" 

"All  right,  -dear  boy,  all  right !  It's  nothing — only  I  got  a  start." 
He  takes  the  frightened  youngster  onto  his  knee,  and  consoles  him. 
Tells  him  to  be  a  man  and  so  forth — not  to  be  frightened  at  trifles — 
inculcates  Sparta.  He's  not  a  little  girl,  is  he?  He  is  not,  and 
is  proud  of  that  achievement.  Very  well  then — ^he  had  better  go 
and  run  about  on  the  beach,  because  we  think  we  won't  go  to  meet 
them,  but  will  stay  and  smoke  our  pipe  till  they  come.  Also  we  are 
on  no  account  to  go  in  the  water,  because  we  might  get  a  chill 
after  our  recent  illness.  But  perhaps  to-morrow  in  the  middle  of 
the  day.  Even  then,  we  mustn't  stop  in  too  long.  Pierrot's  mind 
slips  easily  on  to  a  matter  that  concerns  him  so  nearly,  and  he 
forgets  his  fright  and  goes  out  to  gloat  over  the  ocean  he  is  going 
to  bathe  in  to-morrow. 

His  father  remains  motionless  on  the  sofa,  still  grasping  the 
letter,  for  quite  a  minute.  Then  he  draws  a  long  breath.  "That 
darling  child !"  he  says,  in  an  undertone,  and  again,  "That  darling 
child!  Alice-f or-short !  Think  of  it!"  He  drops  the  letter  for  a 
moment,  gets  at  his  pocket  handkerchief  and  wipes  his  forehead; 
then  polishes  his  spectacles,  and  the  name  Alice  christened  him  by 
in  her  secret  mythology  passes  through  his  mind.  "The  dear,  dear 
little  thing!"  he  says,  and  has  to  dry  his  eyes  before  he  puts  the 
glasses  back.  Then  he  picks  up  and  smooths  out  the  letter  and  goes 
nearer  the  light — there  is  not  much  left — to  read  it.  It  is  a  half- 
page,  and  begins  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence. 

".  .  .  dreadfully  afraid  he  must  come  to  know  it  in  the  end,  because 
though  Dr.  Pitt  says  I  shan't  be  badly  marked  and  Mrs.  Wintring- 
ham  thinks  so  too — {mind  you,  don't  direct  to  the  Mother  Superior 
when  Mr.  Charley  comes  back — he  might  see  the  letter) — of  course 
there  must  be  some  mark — for  a  year  or  so  at  least — and  though 


364  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

Mr.  Charley  is  the  most  unobservant  male  I  ever  came  across, 
about  people's  faces,  and  their  things,  still  I  do  not  think  we  can 
hocus-pocus  him  for  good.  Only  I  want  to  be  quite  well  and  strong 
and  able  to  laugh  at  him  when  the  cat  does  come  out  of  the  bag. 
Keep  the  cat  in  the  longest  we  can,  anyhow.  What  aggravates  me 
is  that  there  is  sure  to  be  a  mark  just  round  the  corner  where 
people  always  .  .  ." 

That  was  the  end  of  the  other  side  of  the  sheet — Charles  could 
not  fill  out  the  sentence.  He  gave  it  up  after  one  or  two  guesses. 
But  he  read  both  sides  over  and  over  again.  Then  he  sat  on — 
sat  on  in  the  twilight — ^his  left  hand  still  holding  the  letter.  If 
he  moved,  it  was  only  to  raise  his  two  hands  together  and  drop 
them.    Nothing  else.    At  last  he  roused  himself  with  a  little  shake. 

"Was  there  ever  such  another  dear,  dear,  dear  girl  in  the  world  V 
He  made  the  enquiry  of  space,  and  didn't  wait  for  an  answer. 

He  pulled  the  bell — or  rather,  the  bell-handle.  A  bell-handle 
does  not  transmit  power  except  the  wire  be  efficient;  or  perhaps 
there  was  no  bell.  "It  sounds  as  if  there  was  none,"  said  Charles; 
"perhaps,  more  accurately,  it  doesn't  sound  as  if  there  was  one. 
It's  Platonic,  anyhow." — So  he  went  out  to  find  Handsworth,  and 
met  him  coming.  Handsworth  had  "heard  the  wire"  and  con- 
cluded "that  Mr.  Charles  had  rung."  Phrases  about  parlour-bells 
seem  to  run  into  inaccuracy  naturally.  Charles  asked  for  the  lamp 
or  a  couple  of  candles  to  write  a  letter  by.  When  illuminated,  he 
discovered  writing-materials  and  sat  down  and  wrote. 

He  wrote,  absorbed,  to  the  end  of  a  four-page  letter.  It  was 
written  straight  through,  signature  and  all,  without  any  apparent 
difficulty  in  structure,  or  stumbling-blocks  in  phrasing.  Then  he 
looked  at  his  watch,  gave  a  short  whistle,  picked  up  his  hat,  and 
started  out  to  find  Master  Pierre.  A  signal,  once  or  twice  repeated, 
of  the  nature  of  a  coo-ey,  convinced  him  that  that  young  man 
had  got  well  out  of  hearing,  and  would  have  to  be  chased.  He  was 
considering  whether  the  chase  need  begin  now,  or  might  stand 
over  for  a  little,  when  his  ear  was  caught  by  the  sound  of  wheels, 
and  an  anticipative  cry  that  it  was  Uncle  Charley  at  last. 

"Yes,    it's    Uncle    Charley,    and    what's    more    he    knows    all 

about "    But  Charles  stopped,  to  do  full  justice  to  his  welcome 

to  his  sister. — "There's  forgiveness  in  that  hug,"  thought  Peggy  to 
herself,  after  a  qualm  of  misgiving  at  his  words ;  there  could  be  no 
doubt  what  it  was  he  knew  all  about.    He  continued : — 

"Yes,  I  know  all  about  it,  Poggy-Woggy — (How  well  you  are 
looking,  dear! — give  me  another  kiss,  and  don't  look  so  scared)— 


ALICE-FOK-SHOKT  355 

and  I  can  only  say,  that  of  all  the  darling  girls "    And  really 

Charles  couldn't  say  any  more,  as  a  matter  of  fact.  So  he  let  it 
alone  during  debarcation  from  the  carriage,  which  involved  Phillips 
and  Alee  being  carried  upstairs,  like  Sabine  women  sound  asleep, 
over  their  Uncle's  two  shoulders.  For  he  said  he  preferred  taking 
them  both,  as  a  too  uxorious  Roman  soldier  might  have  done.  He 
shot  them  onto  a  bed,  like  coals,  and  left  the  remainder  of  their 
arrangement  to  the  nurse. 

"Well— Charley!" 

"Well— Lady  Johnson !" 

"Come  and  sit  down  here,  dear  old  boy,  and  I'll  tell  you — no, 
don't! — Come  out  in  front  in  the  moonlight,  and  we'll  sit  on  the 
seat. — How  well  you're  looking! — The  Alps  for  ever!" — Charles 
Bays  they  had  that  sort  of  flavour  about  them  when  he  came  away ; 
and  then  they  both  go  out  towards  the  long  stream  of  moonlight 
on  the  sea,  and  the  mysterious  black  pyramid  between  it  and  the 
moon,  which  vanishes  when  you  hide  both.  They  anchor  on  a  seat 
in  the  wilderness ;  where  the  sea-wind,  had  it  not  been  asleep,  would 
have  been  doing  a  little  sweeping  of  the  sand.  As  it  was,  it  was  so 
still  the  tufts  of  spike-grass  hardly  stirred.  Peggy  approached  the 
subject  seriously. 

"It  was  Alice  herseK — (Yes,  I  know!  There  is  nobody  like 
her!) — and  she  always  gets  her  way,  you  know — ^now  isn't  it  true? 
Well !    She  arranged  it  with  the  Sister " 

"Mrs.  Prig?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Prig.  If  she  caught  it,  she  was  to  go  away  at  once 
to  this  nursing-home,  or  another,  if  they  couldn't  take  her  in.  The 
head  of  it  is  an  old  friend  of  Mrs.  Prig.  She  began  feeling  head- 
aches and  chills  two  or  three  days  before  you  went  to  St.  Leonards, 
and  the  people  at  the  home  sent  a  special  carriage  for  her — just 
fancy!  it  was  a  four  hours'  drive  and  we  knowing  nothing  about 
it! " 

"But  the  dear  girl !  What  did  they  do  it  for?  Because  we  were 
up  to  our  eyes  in  contagion  already — germs  all  over  the  place " 

"Don't  you  see?  She  thought  you  wouldn't  get  away  for  a 
change — besides  your  getting  an  extra  chance  of  catching  it,  if  you 
hung  about  the  house.  And  she  knew  she  would  be  just  as  well 
nursed — or  better." 

"The  poor,  darling  child!  All  by  herself  at  a  Hospital!  Oh, 
Peggy!    But  what  did  Rupert  say?" 

"It  was  no  use  his  saying  anything — nor  me  either.  The  thing 
was  done.  I  was  very  near  telling  you  though,  only  Rupert  stopped 
me.    Yes,  stopped  me !    And  I  think  now  he  was  quite  right.    'Sup- 


356  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

pose/  he  said,  'Charley  is  told,  and  hangs  about  at  the  house,  as  he 
would,  and  catches  it  too,  and  dies,  and  Alice  recovers,  what  good 
will  it  have  done  her  to  tell  him  ?  Circumscribe  the  disease  first — • 
talk  metaphysics  and  morality  afterwards !'  That  was  what  he  said. 
And  I  think  he  was  right,  Charley.  Alice  will  have  some  pleasure 
now  in  seeing  what  a  capital  job  the  Alps  have  turned  you  out." 

"But  when  shall  I  see  her? — that's  what  I  want  to  know.  Will 
she  be  here  in  a  day  or  two,  as  she  says?  And  are  the  doctor  and 
Mrs.  Wintringham  right  about  the  marks,  or — what's  the  matter  ?" 

"How  do  you  come  to  know  what  they  say?" — For  Peggy  has 
looked  blank  surprise  at  Charles,  and  cut  short  his  torrent  of 
questions. 

"How  do  I  come ?    Why,  of  course — oh,  I  forgot  though,  I 

never  told  you  how  I  read  your  letter."  And  Charles  describes 
what  had  happened. 

"See  what  comes  of  eaves-dropping  and  such  like,  you  foolish 
boy!  You  might  have  remained  in  the  dark — I  see  how  it  was, 
though.  It  was  those  children.  They  get  my  letters  and  push 
them  under  the  carpet,  to  keep  them  secret.  I  expect  the  other 
half  of  this  one  is  under  the  carpet  now." 

"But  are  they  right  about  the  marks  ?" 

"Indeed,  I  do  hope  so,  dear  Charley."  Peggy  looks  very  serious. 
"Because  for  a  girl " 

"Oh — I  know — I  know!"  says  Charles,  with  pain  in  his  voice. 
"And  oh  dear — there  was  I,  fancying  what  kept  Alice  away  was 
something  of  that  kind.  And  now,  now !"  Chagrin  and  dis- 
tress cannot  do  much  more  with  two  words,  than  make  them  like 
these. 

"But,  Charley  dear — are  you  so  very  sure?  Would  you  be  so 
very  glad,  if  Alice  were  really  engaged  to  be  married  ?" 

"Yes,"  almost  shouts  Charles.  "Yes — if  the  man  were  good 
enough  for  her.  I  want  that  dearest  of  girls  to  have  the  very  best 
of  everything — the  best  of  husbands — the  happiest  of  homes. 
Everything.     So  do  you,  Poggy-Woggy,  and  you  know  it." 

Peggy  doesn't  deny  this.  But  there  is  a  curious  reserve  in  the 
handsome  face  in  the  moonlight,  as  she  sits  looking  at  her  brother. 
It  might  have  influenced  some  speech  later,  but  the  conversation  was 
cut  short  by  jolly  satyrs,  so  to  speak.  They  were  so  many,  and  so 
many,  and  such  glee.  Metaphor  apart,  they  were  the  picnic;  or 
what  had  been  the  picnic,  an  hour  or  two  since,  which  had  now  come 
back  with  many  strange  tales  to  tell,  and  alive  to  the  advantages 
of  supper.  Pierre  reappeared  with  them ;  but  it  seemed  that  he  was 
indisposed  to  admit  that  he  had  lost  much  or  anything  by  his 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  357 

seclusion   for   the  past   two  months,   and,   in   fact,   was   inclined 
to  question  the  advantages  of  picnics  as  compared  with  Smallpox. 

So  whatever  comment  was  pending  in  Lady  Johnson's  mind  on 
her  brother's  natural  aspirations  for  a  beloved  protegee,  it  was  not 
made,  on  this  occasion  at  least,  and  Charles  took  no  note  of  any 
expression  on  her  face.  No  wonder! — for  his  was  at  this  moment 
obsessed  by  a  small  nephew  of  seven  years,  who  sprang  on  him 
from  behind,  and  may  be  said  to  have  sounded  the  key-note  of  the 
performance  for  the  rest  of  the  evening. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

HOW  ALICE  LOOKED  OUT  FOR  A  SPARROW's  SHADOW,  AND  LET  HER  NURSE 

READ  Charles's  letter  aloud,     how  charles  made  a  mortal 

SHORT-CUT  ACROSS  A  CHURCHYARD,  AND  TOOK  ALICE  TO  WIMBLEDON. 
HOW  GRANDMAMMA  WOULD  TALK  ABOUT  MISS  STRAKER 

If  the  whole  human  race  were  polled  to  decide  the  question, 
what  is  the  most  delightful  thing  in  the  world  that  does  no  harm  to 
any  one  else,  surely  more  than  half  would  answer — convalescence. 
Of  course  there  are  no  end  of  greater  satisfactions  that  have  more 
claim  on  our  consideration,  if  we  include  those  which  involve 
discomfort  or  inconvenience  to  our  fellow-creatures.  Nobody 
would  place  a  mere  sensual  enjoyment,  like  returning  health,  on  a 
level  with  shooting  or  fishing  or  winning  heavily  on  the  Stock- 
Exchange  or  at  Monte  Carlo,  all  of  which  involve  corresponding 
drawbacks  to  some  one  else,  and  couldn't  be  enjoyed  without  them. 
But,  for  an  absolutely  innocuous  pleasure,  give  us  getting  well  after 
an  illness. 

So  Alice  thought  to  herself  as  she  waked  up  very  slowly,  on  the 
second  morning  after  our  last  chapter,  in  all  the  comfort  of  her 
little  room  at  Chelverhurst,  the  old  Surrey  manor-house  that  had 
been  turned  into  a  Nursing  Home  for  badly  infectious  cases.  Why 
not  have  Smallpox,  if  the  end  of  it  was  to  be  a  stream  of  morning 
sunlight  on  an  imitation  Chinese  chintz  a  hundred  years  old,  and  a 
wallpaper  to  match  with  pheasants  repeated  at  intervals,  but  not 
showing  any  gauche  consciousness  of  their  own  sameness?  And 
bedroom  china  of  the  very  same  data,  unchipped,  yet  authentic, 
so  beautiful  that  Charles's  funny  friend  Mr.  Jerrythought  would 
have  bid  for  the  merest  soap-dish  ?  For  that  was  how  Alice  thought 
of  Jeff — as  a  being  whose  sole  joy  was  the  authenticity  of  his  col- 
lection of  early  Georgian. 

JefF  might  have  used  his  favourite  expression,  "Grandmother!" 
in  a  new  sense  about  the  authenticities  at  Chelverhurst,  and  with 
a  greater  appositeness.  Eor  the  house  as  it  stood  was  exactly  what 
it  was  when  the  present  owner's  Grandmother  died ;  and  very  nearly 
what  it  had  been  when  she  married,  say  a  hundred  years  ago. 
Mrs.  Wintringham,  when  her  mother  and  husband  and  four  chil- 

858 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  359 

dren  died  of  Smallpox,  inherited  it  and  turned  it  into  a  Nursing 
Home.  But  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  this,  any  more  than  we 
have  with  any  of  the  appalling  tragedies  whose  survivors  pass  us 
in  the  street  every  day.  We  only  mention  it  to  account  for  the 
intense  authenticity  of  the  ewer  and  basin,  the  chintz  and  the  wall- 
paper, which  Alice  can  see  the  sun-made  window  on,  and  is  feeling 
glad  of.  How  heavenly  it  is  in  this  dear  little  duck  of  a  room  she 
was  moved  into  yesterday  after  all  that  dreadful  fever  and  madden- 
ing skin-torture  in  the  real  service  ward  of  the  institution  in  the 
new  building  in  the  garden,  a  little  way  off!  For  this  was  one  of 
two  or  three  choice  retreats  in  the  "Mother  Superior's"  own  house, 
which  she  kept  in  reserve  for  convalescents  in  special  cases.  Alice 
soon  became  a  special  case,  even  when  the  fever  was  on  her.  It  was 
a  way  she  had  with  her. 

In  the  middle  of  the  sun-made  window  was  a  cast  shadow  of  ivy- 
leaf.  It  moved  with  a  sudden  movement  that  was  not  wind.  Alice 
lay  and  watched  it  drowsily,  delightfully.  She  was  watching  for 
the  little  dicky-bird  that  she  knew  was  causing  that  movement, 
somewhere  out  of  sight.  She  knew  that  by  pulling  at  a  fluffy  bell- 
rope  handle  close  to  her  hand  she  could  have  milk  or  meat-jelly 
or  anything  she  liked  to  name.  But  she  preferred  to  watch  for 
the  shadow  of  the  little  dicky-bird.  Would  it  be  a  swallow,  or  a 
tomtit,  or  a  little  wren,  or  only  a  common  house-sparrow?  And 
would  she  know  it  by  its  shadow  ?  .  .  . 

Yes — there  it  was,  sure  enough !  And  Alice  would  have  guessed, 
up  to  cockney-point  of  bird-knowledge,  if  only  the  little  character 
would  have  stood  still,  or  said  something.  But  he  only  got  involved 
in  himself,  and  became  a  ripple  of  feathers,  and  a  flick,  and  dis- 
appeared without  remark.  Alice  watched  for  him  again,  vexed  at 
his  silence.  She  watched  all  the  while  the  ivy-spray  travelled 
across  a  Chinese  pheasant.  Then  the  little  bird's  shadow  came 
again,  and  Alice  decided  he  was  only  a  sparrow.  He  said  some- 
thing very  loud  twice  over — something  out  of  all  proportion  to  his 
size — and  flew  away.  Then  Alice  suddenly  went  to  sleep  again, 
quite  contrariwise  to  her  expectations. 

She  heard  through  her  sleep,  without  seeing  any  need  to  wake  for 
it,  the  sound  of  music.  It  was  that  Ave  Maria  of  Arcadelt.  Most 
likely  you  know  the  one  I  mean — one  often  hears  it.  It  is  just  like 
Heaven  under  ordinary  circumstances;  but  when  it  is  the  first 
music  heard  after  a  bad  illness,  how  then?  Almost  worth  the  ill- 
ness to  hear  it,  with  the  life  coming  back  to  one's  veins,  in  the  sweet 
air  and  the  clean  white  sheets,  and  what  would  else — ^but  for  it — ^be 
silence. 


860  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

So  Alice  thought  as  she  came  slowly,  slowly,  from  the  sleep  that 
listened  to  the  Sisters'  matins  in  the  little  chapel  they  had  made, 
themselves  in  the  garden.  So  she  was  still  thinking  when  Mrs. 
Wintringham,  who  was  ugly  but  good,  came  in  to  pay  her  a  morn- 
ing visit,  and  bring  her  her  letters.  What  did  it  matter  how  nar- 
row-minded she  was? 

"Three  Miss  Kavanaghs,"  says  the  good  lady ;  "Miss  Kavanagh — 
Miss  Kavanagh — Miss  Kavanagh."  She  hands  the  three  to  Alice. 
"And  one  for  Miss  Alice  Kavanagh,"  which  she  passes  on  sepa- 
rately, that  there  may  be  no  deception — like  a  conscientious  con- 
jurer. 

"That's  Mr.  Charley,  I  know,"  says  the  patient;  "he  always 
Miss-Alices  me."  But  she  doesn't  seem  in  any  hurry  to  open 
them.  It's  such  fun  looking  at  the  outside  of  a  letter,  she  con- 
eiders. 

"Have  your  own  way,  my  dear,"  says  the  Mother  Superior,  as 
Alice  groups  the  four  envelopes  on  the  counterpane  in  front  of  her ; 
"you're  to  be  spoiled,  you  know."  She  is  a  little  chuckly  rather  red 
woman  of  fifty -odd:  you  would  not  describe  her  as  tempting,  or 
what  we  have  heard  called  cuddlesome.  But  Alice  wants  to  kiss  her 
for  all  that.  Perhaps  she  sees  straight  through  to  the  soul  that 
passed  through  the  Valley  of  that  Shadow  of  Death,  and  was  saved 
from  wreck  by  its  thought  for  travellers  to  come.  Anyhow,  she 
gets  at  the  ugly  face  somehow,  and  kisses  it.  "You  have  been  a 
darling  to  me,"  says  she ;  "so  has  everybody." 

"You're  a  pleasant  one  to  do  with,  my  dear!  There's  the  differ- 
ence." And  presently  the  Mother  Superior  goes  away,  after  in- 
specting Alice's  face  carefully.  But  she  leaves  Sister  Alethea  to 
attend  to  her  further  spoiling. 

It  was  a  lucky  whim  of  the  patient's  that  made  her  leave  her 
letters  unopened.  Diet,  even  according  to  a  regime,  is  nourish- 
ing— and  we  are  not  sure  the  regime  in  this  case  wasn't  whatever 
the  patient  felt  inclined  for.  Anyhow,  she  was  the  better  for  it,  and 
refection  had  reached  the  stage  of  two  tablespoonfuls  every  four 
hours  before  she  got  her  finger  inside  Charles's  envelope,  and  began 
to  rip  without  misgiving.  .  .  . 

"What's  the  matter,  dear  Miss  Kavanagh?"  said  Sister  Alethea, 
alarmed,  as  Alice  dropped  the  letter  with  a  half -cry,  half -gasp,  and 
fell  back  on  her  pillow,  speechless.  However,  she  soon  recovered 
her  voice. 

"Mr.  Charles  Heath  has  found  out  I've  had  it.  And  I  wanted 
him  not  to  know !" 

"Oh,  is  that  aU  ?    I  thought  something  was  the  matter !"    Sister 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  351 

Alethea  was  an  imperturbable  Sister.  Imperturbability  is  a  very- 
good  quality,  in  a  Hospital. 

"I  wish  you  would  read  it  all  through  for  me.  Sister,  while  I 
shut  my  eyes."  You  see,  Alice  was  so  grateful  to  these  excellent 
ladies  that  she  got  pleasure  from  giving  them  her  unreserved  con- 
fidence. Though,  indeed,  if  the  letter  had  been  from  Mr.  Selwyn- 
Kerr  or  Sir  Thomas  Brabazon,  she  would  never  have  let  another 
soul  see  it.  Except  of  course  Miss  Peggy  or  Mr.  Charley.  People 
took  their  chance  of  that,  if  they  wrote  letters  to  her. 

Sister  Alethea  was  nothing  loth  to  read  the  letters  for  Alice. 
When  you  have  renounced  the  world  it's  fun  to  get  a  read  at  other 
people's  letters  and  see  what's  going  on  in  it.  Besides,  she  had 
just  said  her  prayers  in  the  Chapel.  But  would  Mr.  Charles  Heath 
not  mind  her  seeing  his  letter  ? 

"Oh,  no!  Why  should  he?  As  if  I  didn't  know  Mr.  Charley! 
Cut  away."  And  Alice  lay  back  on  the  pillow  and  listened.  There 
really  was  an  element  of  physical  weakness  in  this.  Alice  was  glad 
to  have  anything  done  for  her;  for  all  she  felt  so  well  and  happy 
it  could  not  be  relied  on  to  last  if*  she  tried  to  do  anything  beyond 
existing. 

"Fire  away.  Sister  Thea  dear,"  said  she.  Sister  Alethea  hesi- 
tated a  moment,  then  proceeded: 

"  'You  most  dear  and  darling  little  girl,  there  is  nothing  like  you 
anywhere  in  all  this  world.  Yes,  I  know,  I've  heard  all  about  it. 
Alice-f or-short ! — only  think  of  it.' — Is  that  what  he  means  ?"  The 
reader  hung  fire  for  a  moment,  doubtfully. 

"Is  what  what  he  means?  .  .  .  'Alicc-f or-short ?'  oh,  yes! — it's 
only  Mr.  Charley.    That's  all  right.    I  understand.    Go  ahead !" 

"  'And  instead  of  that,  there  was  I  climbing  the  Alps.  .  .  .'  Are 
you  sure  I'm  reading  right.  Miss  Kavanagh?  Because  it  doesn't 
seem  to  make  sense." 

"Oh  dear,  yes!  It's  all  right.  Don't  you  know  about  'instead 
of  that  you  go  and  steal  turkeys'?  You  don't  understand  Mr. 
Charley.  Go  straight  on."  The  Sister  seemed  unconvinced,  but 
continued : 

"  'Whatever  can  I  say  to  my  dear  little  girl  for  this  ?  What  is 
there  to  be  said  except  that  I  ?'  .  .  ." 

"Can't  you  make  out  his  handwriting?" 

"Oh  yes — it's  quite  legible.    Only  .  .  ." 

"Only  what?" 

"Are  you  really  sure  he  wouldn't  mind  other  people  reading  all 
this  ?"  Alice  laughed  aloud,  quite  cheerfully.  Why  on  earth  should 
Mr.  Charley  mind  anybody  reading  it?     Of  course,  he  meant  it. 


362  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

Sister  Alethea  glanced  on  to  the  next  page,  seemed  still  to  hesitate, 
then  finally  resumed : 

"  'What  is  there  to  be  said  except  that  I  love  you  and  shall  always 
love  you.  Really  when  you  come  to  think  it  over,  Alice-for-short, 
darling,  you'll  find  that  that  exhausts  the  subject.  Further  than 
that  there  is  nothing — only  just  this — that  if  that  dear  sweet  face 
of  yours  is  disfigured  I  shall  never  be  happy  again.  It's  the  simple 
truth.  But  what  I  can't  get  over  is  that  there  was  I,  climbing  all 
those  Alps  all  the  while !' 

"  'Now,  my  dear — look  here !  I  know  you're  not  fit  to  move  yet, 
and  can't  be  for  a  day  or  two.  But  I  know  you're  in  good  hands. 
So  I'll  put  up  with  not  seeing  you  for  a  few  days  more — though 
I  tell  you  plainly  I  don't  above  half  like  it — and  then  I'll  come  and 
fetch  you.  That's  something  to  look  forward  to,  anyhow?  Good- 
bye for  now,  darling.' 

"  'Signed— Mr.  Charley.' " 

"Isn't  it  a  nice  letter?"  said  Alice,  with  her  eyes  closed  and  her 
head  back  on  the  pillow.  She  seemed  very  happy  over  it,  now  that 
the  first  shock  of  finding  Charles  knew  the  whole  truth  was  over. 

"Oh,  a  very  nice  letter !"  The  bewilderment  on  the  imperturbable 
face  of  the  Nursing  Sister  was  just  as  visible  as  if  Heaven  had 
given  her  one  capable  of  expression.  But  Alice  didn't  see  it;  so 
that  didn't  matter. 

"I  don't  think  I  shall  write  back  to  Mr.  Charley  yet,  not  till  I 
know  better  about  my  marks.  Dr.  Pitt  said  he  thought  he  would 
be  able  to  make  a  good  guess  in  a  day  or  two." 

"Do  you  think  this  gentleman  would  mind?"  Sister  Thea  felt 
it  would  be  too  familiar  to  say  "Mr.  Charley."  But  she  knew  no 
other  name.  "I  mean,"  she  continued,  "that  I  fancy  it  won't  make 
any  difference  at  all  to  him." 

Alice  opened  her  eyes  to  full  astonishment  point,  and  looked 
round  at  the  Sister.  "You  don't  hnow  Mr.  Charley!"  she  said. 
^'  'Not  make  any  difference  to  him !' — why,  he'll  just  break  his  heart 
about  it!  I  don't  believe  he  ever  really  will  be  happy — just  as  he 
says.  I'm  sure  he'll  be  always  thinking  about  me,  all  day  long. 
And  as  far  as  that  goes,  I  shouldn't  care  twopence  if  I  was  like 
picturesque  cottages  outside  all  over,  provided  it  did  him  any  good. 
What's  it  called  ?  .  .  .  rough-cast.  Or  Pierre's  compasses — I  mean 
the  box.  .  .  ."  Alice  was  getting  tired  with  talking,  and  said  so. 
She  wouldn't  be  able  to  read  her  other  letters,  and  she  wanted  to 
read  them  all  to  herself.  So  Sister  Thea  took  several  things  in  the 
room  as  points  of  order,  and  when  they  were  disposed  of,  carried 
away  an  extinct  tray,  to  come  back  in  due  course. 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  363 

It  was  Alice  all  over  to  hand  her  letter  from  Charles  to  the  Nurs- 
ing Sister  to  read,  and  to  have  reserves  about  Peggy's.  Her  abso- 
lute confidence  in  her  relations  with  Charles  prevented  her  ever 
looking  at  them  critically,  much  less  analysing  them.  It  com- 
pletely betrayed  her  in  this  case  into  what  seemed  to  Sister  Thea 
a  most  perplexing  lack  of  common-sense  and  common  insight.  Per- 
haps this  was  partly  owing  to  her  weak  and  hazy  condition  of  mind. 
At  another  time  she  might  have  done  otherwise.  This  time  she 
felt  no  misgivings  as  she  dozed  off — even  in  the  act  of  opening 
Peggy's  letter — after  the  Sister  went  away. 

The  sunlight  had  deserted  the  Chinese  pheasants  on  the  wall,  and 
was  down  on  the  carpet  under  the  window  when  she  next  thought 
of  waking.  She  felt  the  envelope  still  on  her  finger  as  she  lay 
there  not  quite  sure  whether  to  wake  or  not.  This  reminded  her 
she  had  not  read  the  letter,  and  roused  her  to  do  so.  It  was  written 
the  day  after  Charles's — but  had  come  by  the  same  post.  Alice 
wasn't  to  be  the  least  uncomfortable.  Charles  had  taken  the  news 
very  sensibly,  and  had  promised  not  to  fidget  about  her.  Peggy 
told  all  about  how  the  story  had  come  out.  "It  was  such  a  piece  of 
luck,"  said  the  writer,  "that  your  letter  those  wicked  little  monkeys 
had  got  at  and  left  sticking  out  of  the  carpet  was  just  the  sheet 
about  what  Mrs.  Wintringham  and  Dr.  Pitt  said  about  the  marks. 
Just  think  if  it  had  been  that  about  the  guy  you  looked  in  the 
glass!  Charley  went  to  look  under  the  carpet  for  the  rest  of  the 
letter,  but  I  had  been  beforehand  with  him,  and  pretended  it  was 
lost."  She  went  on  to  say  that  Charles  had  consented  to  remain  at 
Shellacombe  for  the  present,  and  not  go  tearing  off  like  a  maniac  to 
Chelverhurst,  where  he  couldn't  do  any  good  and  would  only  catch 
some  new  infection.  Rupert  was  coming  down  on  Saturday  and 
would  keep  him  quiet.  This  afternoon  he  and  Pierre  had  walked 
over  to  Surge  Point,  to  see  where  Aunty  Lissy  nearly  went  over  the 
cliff.  Did  Alice  remember  Andrew  O'Rourke — ^perhaps  she  hardly 
could — Mrs.  O'Rourke's  son  at  the  Lighthouse?  Poor  fellow!  he 
had  volunteered  to  go  over  the  ship's  stern  in  a  gale,  to  find  what 
had  fouled  the  screw,  and  was  drowned.  Alice  could  quite  well 
remember  the  strong  man  that  had  come  behind  her  on  the  cliff, 
and  then  carried  her  home.  When  Sister  Thea  came  in  with  her 
beef-tea,  tears  were  running  down  Alice's  cheeks  for  the  strong 
man,  and  the  Sister  was  promised  the  whole  story  of  the  rescue  as 
soon  as  the  patient  might  talk  more.  For  Alice  was  weakness  itself 
the  moment  she  spoke  or  moved. 

What  were  the  other  two  letters?  One  from  Pierre,  describing 
the  glorious  Chemical  Chest  Aunt  Peggy  had  given  him,  with  a 


364  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

book  full  of  experiments  it  would  be  scientific  to  try.  Only  .  .  , 
only  .  .  .  only,  there  was  canker  in  the  fruit,  gall  in  the  nectar 
cup!  The  gift  was  saddled  with  the  condition  that  its  recipient 
should  not  make  gunpowder!!  .  .  .  Pierre,  who  was  developing 
military  and  destructive  instincts,  felt  that  science,  so  handicapped, 
was  a  mere  Dead-Sea  apple.  And  there  were  the  quantities  given 
in  the  book,  and  everything !  Alice  turned  from  the  contemplation 
of  this  enormity  with  a  feeling  of  gratitude  that  the  Scientific 
Recreation  of  blowing  himself  to  pieces  had  been  forbidden  to 
Pierre. 

And  the  other  letter — who  was  that  ?  Alice  didn't  at  once  recog- 
nise the  handwriting.  Instead  of  referring  to  the  enclosure,  she 
preferred  to  remain  out  of  its  confidence,  and  wonder.  Then  she 
said,  suddenly,  "Oh,  I  know — of  course!"  and  opened  it.  Which 
was  absurd. 

She  looked  very  much  amused  at  the  first  page,  and  her  amuse- 
ment grew  as  she  read.  By  the  time  she  got  to  the  last  sheet — it 
was  a  long  letter — she  was  fairly  glued  to  and  engrossed  with  the 
contents,  her  face  sparkling  with  a  forecast  of  the  laugh  that  was 
going  to  come  at  the  end.  When  it  came  she  used  up  her  last 
reserve  of  vigour  to  enjoy  it,  and  fell  back  on  the  pillow  exhausted, 
and  drying  the  tears  her  laugh  had  left  behind. 

"There  now !"  she  said  to  space,  as  soon  as  she  thought  she  would 
be  audible.  "What  will  Mr.  Charley  say  to  that?  Shan't  I  catch 
it !    However,  I  don't  care  what  he  says.    I'm  not  responsible." 

She  began  to  frame  the  wording  of  her  letter  to  Charley,  in 
which  she  would  give  all  particulars  of  what  had  amused  her  so. 
But  when  one  does  this  sort  of  thing  on  a  pillow,  one  goes  to  sleep 
again.  Alice  did,  and  actually  slept  till  Mrs.  Wintringham  and 
Dr.  Pitt  came,  who  found  her  asleep  under  envelopes  and  hand- 
writings. 

"Better  not  try  getting  up  to-day,  but "    And  that  is  as  much 

as  Dr.  Pitt  need  say,  in  this  story.  It  was  a  good  forecast  of  next 
day,  as  Alice  did  then  get  up,  and  actually  lay  in  a  hammock  .on 
the  lawn  in  the  sun,  and  talked  to  the  ugly  little  Mother  Superior 
about  the  old  days  before  the  Smallpox  when  the  "Homo"  was 
another  sort  of  home,  and  her  children  played  on  the  lawn  there. 
Alice  felt  so  narrow-minded  for  always  catching  herself  forgiving 
this  little  woman  for  being  narrow-minded.  She  was  so,  no  doubt. 
But  after  all,  what  do  we  know,  the  wisest  of  us  ?  Presently,  Alice 
found  herself  repeating  old  Mr.  Heath's  "Well! — we're  all  mighty 
fine  people!" 

She  just  managed  a  short  note  in  a  shaky  hand  to  Mr.  Charley, 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  365 

promising  him  another  almost  directly,  with  something  very  amus- 
ing in  it.  And  next  day  she  was  better  still,  and  wrote  it.  But, 
after  all,  she  postponed  the  something  very  amusing.  Conva- 
lescence then  began  to  progress  rapidly  and  the  day  was  fixed  for 
her  removal.  But  Mrs.  Wintringham  didn't  want  this  patient  to 
go,  and  got  it  made  as  late  as  possible. 

A  word  of  compliment  is  due  to  Peggy  at  this  juncture.  For 
she  kept  her  natural  eagerness  to  see  Alice  back  in  Harley  Street 
in  check,  and  assented  to  the  convalescent  going  for  a  while  to  her 
mother's  villa  on  Wimbledon  Common  before  returning  to  the 
house  that  she  always  regarded  as  her  home.  Poor  Peggy! — ^just 
think!  There  had  been  scarcely  any  Alice  for  her  since  that  day 
in  May  when  the  news  came  of  Charles's  wife's  death.  And  here 
we  were  almost  in  September!  But  Peggy  was  all  the  readier  to 
give  way  on  this  point  because  the  drive  from  Chelverhurst  to  Oak 
Villa  was  shorter,  and  it  had  been  settled  that  a  long  carriage  drive 
was  better  than  a  railway- journey  with  two  changes,  and  a  drive  at 
each  end.  And  Grandmamma's  carriage  could  either  be  shut  or 
open.  But  as  a  reward  for  her  self-restraint  in  the  matter  of 
Alice's  return,  she  insisted  on  Charles  remaining  at  Shellacombe 
until  the  time  was  quite  ripe  for  him  to  go  and  bring  Alice  away 
from  Chelverhurst.  So  Mr.  Charley  had  to  keep  his  curiosity  in 
check  for  another  week  about  the  something  very  amusing.  At  the 
end  of  that  time  he  returned  to  London  with  his  son,  whom  he 
forthwith  despatched  to  finish  his  holidays  at  his  Grandmother's, 
and  get  as  much  cricket  as  was  compatible  with  a  small  amount 
of  occasional  attention  to  his  hostess.  He  would  come  on  himself 
in  a  day  or  two,  and  bring  the  convalescent  with  him. 

This  reminds  us  that  we  have  quite  lost  sight  of  old  Mrs.  Heath. 
After  the  break  up  of  "the  Gardens"  she  retired  to  a  villa  on  Wim- 
bledon Common,  always  attended  by  her  faithful  Partridge.  Her 
attitude  towards  mankind  was,  briefly,  that  its  well-being  suffered 
from  its  neglect  of  her  behests.  This  could  only  be  conveyed  by 
implication,  as  an  abstract  moral  principle,  in  such  cases  (for 
instance)  as  an  earthquake  in  Japan  or  a  misprint  in  Bradshaw; 
but  in  all  family  matters  it  was  a  concrete  reality.  No  reasona- 
ble person  could  doubt  that  the  death  of  her  husband,  the  dispersal 
of  her  sons  and  daughters  with  other  people's  daughters  and  sons, 
and  the  opportunities  of  thrusting  themselves  into  the  family  circle 
thus  given  to  intrusive  babies,  were  alike  due  to  inattention  to 
her  guidance.  Combinations  of  a  paradoxical  nature  sometimes 
occurred;  as  in  the  case  of  her  excessive  fondness  for  Pierre.    Thia 


366  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

might,  in  severe  logical  consistency,  have  led  to  a  certain  amount 
of  forgiveness  towards  the  boy's  mother.  His  Granny  (whose 
devotion  he  entirely  returned)  was  not  prepared  to  go  this  length, 
and  a  modus  vituperandi  had  to  be  discovered  which  should  hit  the 
mother  and  miss  the  son.  The  one  that  recommended  itself  to  Mrs. 
Heath  was  that  of  treating  Pierre  as  exactly  the  very  grandson  she 
would  have  had  in  any  case — a  sort  of  fundamental  principle  in 
Nature — and  his  mother  as  an  interloper  who  had  had  the  imperti- 
nence to  bear  him.  Of  course  she  never  said  anything  of  this  to 
poor  Pierre  himself,  whose  ideas  about  his  mother  were  of  the 
haziest  sort.  He  was  just  alive  to  the  fact  that  she  had  "cut  away" 
from  his  Governor;  but  owing  to  the  latter's  chivalrous  and  gentle 
manner  in  the  few  cases  in  which  he  alluded  to  her,  he  grew  up  with 
a  curious  idea  that  his  mother's  cutting  away  was  not  as  other 
boys'  mothers'  cutting  away;  and  he  once  had  a  deadly  battle  with 
a  school-fellow  whose  father  had  cut  away  from  his  mother,  and 
who  had  presumed  to  compare  the  two  cases.  We  are  referring  to 
old  Mrs.  Heath  and  her  relations  with  Pierre,  now,  to  give  sub- 
stance and  reality  to  his  frequent  absence  from  home.  The  fact 
is  that  during  his  holidays  his  Granny  simply  got  him  down  to 
Wimbledon  whenever  she  could,  and  possibilities  of  cricket  in  the 
neighbourhood  added  to  its  attractions. 

Now  on  this  occasion  of  Charles's  return  from  Shellacombe  near 
three  months  had  elapsed  since  Pierre  had  paid  a  visit  to  Oak 
Villa,  and  his  Granny  had  been  neglected.  So  his  father  sent  him. 
off  the  day  after  their  arrival,  somewhat  crestfallen  at  not  being 
allowed  to  take  his  Chemical  Chest  with  him,  and  inaugurate  re- 
search with  destructive  acids  and  caustic  alkalies  all  over  his 
Grandmamma's  spotless  chintzes  and  irreproachable  carpets.  He 
had  to  be  contented  with  Cricket,  and  defer  Chemistry  for  the 
present.  His  father  was  positive  on  the  point,  and  Pierre  had  to 
give  it  up. 

After  packing  him  off,  Charles  went  straight  to  his  Studio.  He 
saw  his  way  now  to  a  little  quiet  painting.  Seeing  his  way  to  it 
was  a  common  frame  of  mind  of  his.  But  seeing  what  it  would 
be  when  he  got  to  it  was  quite  another  matter.  It  was  curious  that 
the  fact  that  what  he  was  looking  forward  to  with  pleasure  was  not 
the  clothing  of  some  image  in  his  mind  with  a  reality,  but  the 
reinstatement  of  the  contents  of  a  neglected  colour-box,  the  open- 
ing of  a  parcel  of  new  hog-hair  and  sable  brushes  and  so  forth,  and 
the  arrival  of  a  new  double-primed  canvas ;  and  that  this  fact  gave 
him  no  misgivings  about  his  capacities  for  making  use  of  these 
seductive  materials  when  he  had  got  them.     But  so  it  was.     As 


AXICE-FOE-SHORT  867 

he  walked  down  to  his  Studio  next  morning  he  was  absolutely  with- 
out any  purpose  as  to  what  he  was  going  to  put  on  the  canvas  he 
had  ordered  in  Long-Acre  yesterday  on  his  way  from  Waterloo. 
But  this  frame  of  mind  seemed  to  him  compatible  with  a  very  de- 
fined purpose  indeed — a  moral  one,  which  he  described  to  himself 
as  making  up  for  lost  time.  He  said  to  himself  repeatedly  that 
this  would  never  do  and  everything  was  getting  behindhand.  But 
he  shut  his  eyes  to  the  fact  that  this  backwardness  of  his  work  was 
a  pure  abstraction,  and  was  accompanied  by  no  image  of  a  point 
of  arrested  progress  of  any  particular  picture,  or  of  definite  steps 
towards  the  inauguration  of  another.  All  he  knew  was  he  would 
go  to  work  in  earnest  and  make  up  for  lost  time.  That  was  the 
correct  expression.  Of  course  he  must  get  a  little  order  at  the 
Studio,  and  find  out  whether  Mariuccia  Goldoni  could  come  and  sit. 
If  you  try  to  begin  right  off,  before  your  materials  are  in  order  and 
you've  got  your  model,  you  only  get  into  confusion. 

So  when  Charles  got  to  the  Studio  he  got  a  little  order  there  with 
the  assistance  of  Mrs.  Corrigan.  And  then  he  wrote  a  summons  to 
Hariuccia  with  a  new  J  pen,  and  posted  it  off  when  he  went  to 
lunch.  And  when  he  came  back  he  found  that  his  brushes  and 
canvas  had  come.  Which  being  unpacked,  all  was  ready  for  a 
start.  And  the  intense  reality  of  the  brushes  and  canvas  imposed 
upon  him,  and  convinced  him  that  he  really  knew  what  he  was 
going  to  paint.  Or  if  they  didn't  quite  do  that,  they  prevented  his 
raising  any  doubts  about  the  genuineness  of  his  vocation.  But 
for  them,  it  may  be  it  would  have  crossed  his  mind  that  in  all  this 
past  five  weeks  no  seed  of  a  pictorial  concept  had  germinated  in 
the  soil  of  his  imagination.  As  it  was,  the  only  way  in  which  he 
registered  a  suspicion  to  that  effect  was  in  the  indulgence  of  an. 
idea  that  the  soil  had  lain  fallow  to  advantage  and  that  the  harvest 
when  it  came  would  be  all  the  more  plentiful  therefore.  It  was  a 
kind  of  apology  for  finding  himself  at  a  loose  end.  It  always  took 
a  little  time  to  get  to  work;  only,  when  you  did  get  to  work,  you 
found  the  advantage  of  the  rest.  And  then— you  made  up  for 
lost  time ! 

Still,  there  must  have  been  an  undercurrent  of  discontent  at  the 
loose  end.  Else  why  did  he  feel  it  to  be  such  a  welcome  relief  to 
something  undefined  that  Mr.  Pope  should  come  into  his  Studio 
with  a  small  commission  that  had  to  be  executed  immediately? 
That  was  what  Charley  felt  so  grateful  for.  Mr.  Pope  wanted  a 
sketch  for  a  five-light  window  that  was  to  illustrate  the  Decalogue. 

Or,  at  least,  half  of  it.  For  it  was  one  of  two  windows,  a  pair; 
and  the  proposal  was  that  each  window  should  illustrate  five  com- 


368  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

mandments.  But  a  difficulty  had  arisen.  An  odious  stone  transom 
crossed  the  middle  of  each  light,  raaking  twenty  medallion-spaces 
in  all.  Pope  &  Chappell  proposed  to  allow  two  medallions  to  each 
commandment — one  to  illustrate  its  breach,  the  other  its  observ- 
ance. But  this  very  reasonable  idea  had  failed  to  procure  the 
approval  of  the  Rector  of  West  Eastleigh,  more  on  the  score  of 
some  details  in  the  way  of  carrying  it  out  than  on  that  of  the 
principle  involved. 

Charles  had  been  a  party  to  the  original  suggestions  of  treat- 
ment; so  the  affair  was  not  new  to  him,  and  no  introduction  was 
necessary.  After  a  few  words  of  chat  and  congratulations  from 
Mr.  Pope  on  his  robust  appearance. — "You'll  have  to  'elp  us 
through  this  job  after  all,  Mr.  'Eath,"  said  he.  "Ten  charackters 
illustrative  of  observance  of  a  Cemmandment — ten  contrairiwise. 
Twig?" 

"Has  the  Parson  changed  his  mind?" 

"That,  Mr.  'Eath,  I  have  no  means  of  knowin'.  He  has  departed 
this  life,  and  his  successor,  who  orkupies  the  place  he  has  vacated, 
is  a  man  of  a  different  religious  kidney.  As  Mr.  Chappell  says 
whenever  he  gets  a  chance  'Squot  homines,  tot  sententiae' — it's  the 
only  Latin  he  knows ;  so  we  mustn't  begrudge  it  him.  I  don't  even 
know  it,  myself.    But  my  young  son  has  translated  it." 

"They  want  the  window  then?  All  right,  I  can  do  it  at  once. 
Just  a  lucky  chance  while  I  wait  for  a  model  I  particularly  want. 
Am  I  to  stick  to  figures  of  Potiphar's  Wife  and  Bathsheba  for 
number  seven?" 

"The  present  Incumbent  has  pointed  out  that  these  figures  might 
be  reversed  with  advantage,  and  either  will  do  for  either.  Just 
you  think  it  over — it  works  out." 

"All  right!  Only  I  don't  see  why  Bathsheba  shouldn't  do  duty 
as  an  offender.  And  as  for  the  other  one — well!  it  was  no  merit 
of  hers,  certainly,  but  she  did  not  break  the  Commandment." 

"No  doubt  owin'  to  the  other  party  quotin'  it  in  time.  I  thought 
the  idea  pleasin'.  But  that's  not  the  pint  of  view.  The  present 
incumbent  is  anxious  not  to  compromise  David." 

"But  haven't  we  given  David  a  light  all  to  himself  as  an  ob- 
servance ?    In  number  four  ?" 

"Certainly.  On  the  ground  that  he  did  not  murder  Uriah  the 
Hittite.  The  enemy  did  that  job  for  him.  If  that  wasn't  observ- 
ing of  the  Commandment,  people  ain't  easy  to  satisfy." 

"Well! — if  the  parson  is  content,  of  course  I'm  game.  I  can't 
say  I  see  though  why  Bathsheba  should  come  in  as  an  observance." 

"That,  Mr.  'Eath,  is  obvious  to  the  meanest  capacity.     I  am 


ALICE-FOK-SHOKT  369 

alludin',"  said  Mr.  Pope,  modestly,  "to  my  own.  We  have  to  look 
at  the  matter  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  Psalmist's  conscientious 
scruples.  He  felt  that  he  had  placed  himself  and  Bathsheba  in  a 
false  position  so  long  as  her  lawful  husband  was  still  living,  and 
'aistened  to  remedy  it.  He  wished  to  observe  number  seven  with- 
out disregardin'  number  four,  and  acted  accordingly." 

"I  see.  Better  late  than  never !  Clearly  an  instance  of  obedience 
to  the  Commandment.     Cain  remains,  I  suppose?" 

"Subject  to  possible  alteration.  Parties  have  objected  that  there 
was  no  Commandment  in  Cain's  days,  and  he  may  have  acted  in 
ignorance.  Extenuatin'  circumstances.  But  the  principle  is  the 
same.     Get  it  done  Thursday,  if  you  can." 

So  Charles  worked  peacefully  on  the  traced  window-lights  Mr. 
Pope  had  brought  him,  till  darkness  stopped  him.  And  all  the 
while  believed  that  he  was  being  curbed  and  restrained,  by  an 
unkind  chance,  from  the  vigorous  prosecution  of  a  well-defined  idea 
on  his  new  canvas.  If  any  corner  of  his  brain  harboured  a  dormant 
suspicion  that  he  had  welcomed  a  let-off,  he  wasn't  going  to 
encourage  it  to  become  active.    Not  he ! 

He  put  in  the  finishing  touches  and  inscriptions  on  Thursday 
morning,  two  days  later;  and  started  for  Chelverhurst  at  one 
o'clock,  after  a  hurried  sandwich  at  Waterloo  on  the  way  to  the 
train.  The  Nursing  Home  was  an  hour's  walk  from  the  station, 
and  he  had  arranged  to  come  down,  to  accompany  Alice  to  Oak 
Villa.  Sister  Eulalie  was  to  be  driven  over  in  Grandmamma's 
two-horse  carriage  that  could  be  open  or  shut,  and  then  the  three 
were  to  drive  back  to  Wimbledon  in  time  for  tea.  It  was  only  a 
ten-mile  drive,  and  Charleys  caressed  the  prospect  of  it  in  his  imag- 
ination as  he  walked  quickly  along  the  cross-cut  of  by-roads  he 
had  to  ask  his  way  so  often  on;  and  where,  for  all  he  was  within 
twenty  miles  of  five  millions  of  Londoners,  he  so  often  had  to  knock 
at  a  cottage  to  make  his  enquiry,  for  want  of  a  passer-by. 

Yes! — that  was  something  to  look  forward  to.  Alice-f or-short ! 
.Think  of  it ! 

This  looked  very  like  Chelverhurst.  So  thought  Charles  to  him- 
self as  he  walked  into  a  little  village  a  mother  of  twins  at  a  road- 
side cottage  had  spoken  confidently  of  his  finding  in  something 
rather  better  than  five  minutes'  walk  on,  provided  he  didn't  turn 
neither  to  the  right  nor  yet  to  the  left.  So  he  had  left  those  twins 
where  he  had  found  them,  penned  by  a  timber  barrier  inside  a 
cottage,  after  sympathising  with  their  mother  about  family  respon- 
sibilities; and  had  identified  a  poomp  by  the  ro-ad  as  a  certain  land- 
mark, and  found  a  martal  easy  coot  across  the  church-yard  to  the 


370  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

manor-house,  and  in  time  the  manor-house  itself.  And  there,  sure 
enough,  stood  Grandmamma's  carriage  waiting  at  the  door.  Which 
was  opened  to  him  by  Sister  Thea,  who  supposed  he  was  the  gentle- 
man, and  accepted  his  own  belief  to  that  effect  as  conclusive,  and 
showed  him  in  through  a  greenhouse  atmosphere  of  warm  leaves 
and  flowers,  and  a  chorus  of  singing  birds  who  surely  must  have 
been  recently  vaccinated  and  taken,  so  confident  did  they  seem  of 
their  security  from  infection.  It  wasn't  at  all  like  a  hospital, 
thought  Charles.  But  then  his  conductress  explained  that  the  nurs- 
ing-wards were  "over  there,"  and  added  that  Mrs.  Wintringham 
had  never  had  so  much  as  a  book  moved  in  the  house  since  the 
days  when  her  calamity  changed  her  from  the  head  of  a  healthy 
family  to  the  Mother  Superior  of  a  Nursing  Sisterhood.  One 
might  have  thought  the  children  that  had  died  were  still  in  the 
air  of  the  place,  and  that  he  might  have  heard  the  voices  of  them, 
any  moment.  But  Charles  was  too  full  of  the  thought  of  what 
Alice  was  going  to  look  like  to  do  much  with  passing  ideas  of  this 
sort — dismiss  them  or  accept  them. 

Alice  was  in  the  garden,  and  no  doubt  it  was  some  sympathetic 
apprehension  by  Sister  Thea  of  his  anxious  misgivings  on  this 
point  that  made  her  discover  some  excuse  to  go  back  into  the 
house  for  a  moment,  and  leave  him  to  meet  Alice  alone.  At  least, 
no  other  motive  occurred  to  Charles.  He  never  even  speculated  on 
the  possibility  of  one,  and  thought  that  his  concept  of  his  relation 
to  Alice-for-short  must  of  course  be  every  one  else's. 

"Now,  Mr.  Charley  dear,  you're  not  to  be  a  goose  and  make  a 
serious  matter  of  it.  It  really  doesn't  signify  one  scrap!"  There 
is  a  little  crying,  a  little  laughing,  in  Alice's  voice. 

"Take  that  beastly  thing  away,  darling,  and  let  me  see  .  .  ." 
And  Charles  pulls  away  the  end  of  the  woollen  neck-wrap  Alice  has 
used  for  a  momentary  concealment,  and  knows  the  worst.  He  has 
been  piling  up  such  horrors,  in  the  nutmeg-grater  line,  that  he  is 
really  immensely  relieved.  But  he  breaks  down  a  little  over  it,  for 
all  that,  and  the  signs  of  it  are  on  him  as  he  goes  back  to  the  house 
with  Alice  hanging  on  his  arm.  Sister  Thea  and  the  Mother 
Superior  have  decided — ^they  were  eavesdropping,  you  see ! — that 
the  way  Charles  kissed  Miss  Kavanagh  as  soon  as  he  had  taken  a 
good  look  at  her  face,  all  over,  left  no  doubt  of  the  nature  of  the 
position.  But  had  they  been  near  enough  to  hear  the  way  he  called 
her  his  "dearest  child,"  the  phrase  and  something  in  the  tone  would 
have  puzzled  them. 

"You  should  have  seen  me  when  I  was  desquamating,  a  fortnight 
ago,"  says  Alice,  with  pride,  "and  then  you  would  have  said  I  was 


ALICE-FOR-SnOET  371 

a  credit  to  the  establishment.  You  see,  I'm  nothing  to  look  at, 
now !" 

Charles  makes  an  effort  to  fall  in  with  this  way  of  treating  the 
position,  and  gets  so  far  as  to  say,  "Oh,  no! — ^you're  a  very  poor 
Case,  indeed,  Aliee-f or-short."  But  a  fault  in  his  voice  stops  him ; 
and  he  ends  up,  "No — I  can't  laugh,  dearest !  it  was  all  me  and  my 
boy." 

So  Alice  gets  him  off  the  subject,  and  tells  him  what  a  delightful 
time  she  has  had  since  she  came  out  of  the  fever-ward  into  the 
house.  "It's  perfectly  absurd  to  have  gone  on  here  so  long,"  she 
says.  "Only  Mrs.  Wintringham  has  been  so  kind,  and  Sister  Thea. 
It's  almost  worth  being  a  case  of  discrete  smallpox  to  be  so  spoiled 
and  cosseted  up  afterwards." 

She  makes  him  turn  back  when  they  get  to  the  house  and  go  once 
round  the  wide  gravel  path  and  see  the  strawberry  beds.  In  which 
connection  she  tells  the  story  of  Mrs.  Wintringham. 

"And  oh,  Mt.  Charley,"  she  says  at  the  end,  "the  poor  lady  told 
me  it  was  always  on  her  mind  how  she  had  punished  her  boy  for 
going  on  these  very  beds  and  gathering  the  strawberries,  and  that 
afternoon  he  complained  of  a  headache  and  was  sick.  And  she 
told  him  it  served  him  right  for  gobbling  unripe  strawberries — and 
all  the  while  it  was  it  that  was  coming.  Poor  thing! — she  can't 
forgive  herself,  now.    They  all  died,  you  know  ?" 

Alice's  eyes  were  full  of  tears  as  she  stood  telling  this  to  Mr. 
Charley  on  the  gravel  path.  But  Mr.  Charley  was  only  giving  half 
attention.  He  was  absorbed  in  Alice's  marks.  He  wanted  first- 
hand medical  authority  that  they  would  absorb  or  disappear.  Was 
Dr.  Pitt  coming?  No — he  wasn't.  Dr.  Pitt  had  just  gone.  But 
really  Alice  was  quite  smooth  already.  Feel  if  she  wasn't!  There 
now! 

In  case  you  should  feel  alarmed  about  Charles,  remember  that 
Alice  had  really  been  a  week  out  of  quarantine.  Everything  had 
medical  sanction. 

Charles  thought  that  if  the  Hospital-staff  felt  the  parting  as 
much  with  all  their  patients,  they  must  be  in  a  state  of  constant 
laceration.  Also  that  if  all  their  patients  promised  to  write,  as 
Alice  did,  and  kept  their  promises,  the  postman  was  to  be  pitied. 

However,  farewells  and  benedictions  came  to  an  end,  and  Charles 
found  himself  being  driven  away  in  his  mother's  carriage — open, 
because  it  was  so  warm — with  Alice  and  Sister  Eulalie,  who  had 
been  all  this  while  with  her  old  friend  the  Mother  Superior.  Don't 
be  frightened — she  hadn't  been  near  any  dangerous  cases. 

"Now,  Mr.  Charley,  I  have  got  a  surprise  for  you."    Alice  pro- 


372  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

duced  a  letter — Jessie  Freeth's  of  course.  But  she  didn't  open  it, 
yet  a  while. 

"Is  that  the  something  very  amusing?" 

"Yes."    Alice  nodded.    "Now  guess  who's  going  to  marry  who." 

"I  can  see  by  the  envelope.  Miss  Freeth  .  .  ."  Alice  hid  the 
envelope,  abruptly,  too  late. 

"You  saw  the  Canterbury  postmark?" 

"I  did.  I  always  do,  on  her  letters.  I  used  to  find  one  in  the 
box  for  you  every  other  day.  .  .  ," 

"Well! — it's  a  great  shame.  You  spoilt  half  my  surprise.  But 
who's  she  engaged  to  ? — that's  the  point !" 

"Roger  Selwyn-Kerr — if  you  ask  me!" 

"Well  now! — I  declare.  That  is  a  shame!  Now  confess,  Mr. 
Charley,  you  knew  all  along.  .  .  ." 

"Certainly  I  did.  I  told  you  so !  On  the  table — don't  you  recol- 
lect?" 

"Yes — but  that's  not  what  I  mean.  You  know  what  I  mean. 
Mother  Peg  told  you.    Now  didn't  she  ?" 

"Let  me  see! — yes-s-s-s!  She  did  say  something  about  it — but 
I'd  forgotten  that.  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  the  meanness!  To  make  believe  you  could  forget  right 
across  the  middle  of  anything  in  that  way !    Isn't  he  mean,  Sister  ?" 

"Never  saw  anything  like  it  in  my  life,"  says  Sister  Eulalie. 
From  which  trivial  conversation  you  maj'  soe  that  the  party  were 
in  the  highest  spirits  and  were  enjoying  their  drive  along  the 
dusty  road  thoroughly.    That  is  why  we  have  reported  it. 

Charles's  unhappiness  at  being  brought  face  to  face,  close  up  as 
it  were,  with  all  that  Alice  had  suffered  for  him,  and  at  seeing 
the  record  of  it  on  her  face — (however  much  less  emphatic  a  one 
than  he  expected) — was  giving  way  before  the  sheer  pleasure  of 
having  her  back  again.  To  see  her  flashing  out  at  him  for  his  eva- 
sions and  paradoxical  nonsense  was  altogether  too  good  to  be  true. 
It  was  an  exhilarating  dream.  And  when  the  carriage  got  involved 
in  sheep  in  a  lane,  he  was  glad,  because  it  went  slow  and  that  made 
the  drive  longer,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  monotonous  remarks 
of  the  sheep  quite  prevented  him  hearing  Miss  Freeth's  letter  read 
aloud. 

Alice  didn't  read  it  all  through  aloud.  She  wasn't  going  to  be 
disloyal.  But  she  read,  under  pledges  of  secrecy,  a  good  deal  more 
than  its  writer  ever  meant  for  the  general  public.  And  it  lasted — 
the  letter  and  comments  thereon — ^very  nearly  all  the  way  to  Oak 
Villa ;  the  main  points  of  the  discussion  turning  on  how  far  AlictJ 
had  been  responsible  for  the  results  it  narrated. 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  873 

"Well,"  said  Charles  as  a  recrudescence  of  the  conversation 
brought  them  in  sight  of  the  house,  in  reply  to  Alice's  fiftieth  dis- 
claimer of  responsibility,  "all  I  can  say  is.  Mistress  Alice,  that  if 
you  call  yourself  a  discreet  case  of  smallpox,  I  don't.  Here  we  are, 
and  there's  Pierre  watching  for  us." 

In  after  years  Sister  Eulalie  used  often  to  talk  about  that  de- 
lightful drive  we  had  from  Chelverhurst  to  Wimbledon  and  the 
pleasant  evening  that  followed.  But  she  felt  under  an  obligation 
to  use  the  powers,  somehow  traditionally  vested  in  her,  of  a  pro- 
fessional nurse  over  a  recent  patient,  to  induce  Alice  to  go  to  bed 
early.  Hence,  when  ten  o'clock  came,  three  bedroom  candlesticks 
out  of  five  were  lighted;  and  Charles  and  his  mother  were  left  to 
recapitulate  life  gone  by,  or  forestall  the  future,  at  pleasure. 

Mrs.  Heath  was  not  unlike  any  other  old  lady  well  on  in  the 
seventies  in  preferring  the  former.  But  she  had  her  own  way  of 
treating  recapitulation.  It  may  be  described  as  dealing  with  two 
parallels  of  event;  one  of  them  a  potential  Golden  Age,  which 
would  have  come  about  if  she  had  been  attended  to,  the  other  com- 
mon History — the  chaotic  consequence  of  a  wilful  Era's  neglect 
of  her  powers  of  foresight. 

"Yes,  my  dear  Charles,  put  the  shade  down  a  little — it  dazzles  my 
eyes  .  .  .  that's  right!  What  was  I  saying?  About  Pierre,  of 
course.  What  I  mean  is,  that  however  thankful  we  may  be  that 
by  the  mercy  of  God  we  have  escaped  a  great  danger,  we  ought  not 
to  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that,  had  wiser  counsels  prevailed,  it  need 
never  have  been  incurred.  Had  I  been  listened  to,  Pierre  would 
have  been  re-vaccinated  two  years  ago.  .  .  ." 

"My  dear  Mother,  the  boy  was  re-vaccinated  two  years  ago." 

"Let  me  finish,  my  dear.  He  was  vaccinated,  but  it  is  more  than 
doubtful  if  he  ever  took.  What  I  said  at  the  time  was,  'Listen  to 
Dr.  Prodgett,'  and  you  did  not  listen.  And  now  you  see  the  con- 
sequences." 

"But  Shaw,  who  did  it,  said  we  might  re-vaccinate  fifty  times  and 
he  mightn't  take.  .  .  ." 

"My  dear,  do  let  me  finish,  and  then  you  shall  speak.  Dr.  Prod- 
gett's  view  was,  'go  on  till  it  takes — no  matter  how  often.'  And 
now  we  see  how  right  he  was." 

"But  it  wasn't  certain  he  didn't  take,  slightly." 

"My  dear !  how  could  there  be  a  better  proof  that  he  did  not  take 
than  the  fact  that  he  afterwards  showed  himself  liable  to  infection. 
To  reject  so  conclusive  a  proof  is  to  refuse  to  learn  by  experience. 
Perhaps  another  time  I  shall  be  listened  to." 


SH  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

"Well,  Grandmamma  dear,  Pierre  shall  be  re-vacclnated  again  as 
Boon  as  he  is  well  enough.  Prodgett  shall  do  it,  and  go  on  till  he 
takes." 

"My  dear  Charles,  you  know  perfectly  well  that  nothing  I  have 
said  would  warrant  such  an  absurd  mistrust  of  Providence.  Be- 
sides, it  would  be  merely  shutting  the  stable-door  after  the  steed 
had  broken  loose.    But  you  are  your  father's  own  son." 

This  didn't  seem  relevant,  but  comment  might  have  been  inter- 
preted as  controversial.  Charles  felt  that  he  was  not  the  person  to 
question  its  truth,  especially  considering  who  said  it.  So  he  held 
his  tongue,  and  Mrs.  Heath  continued:  "We  may  be  thankful  that 
your  boy  has  been  spared  to  us,  and  no  doubt  Dr.  Prodgett  would 
agree  with  me  that  re-vaccination  would  be  quite  superfluous,  for 
the  present  at  least." 

Charles  abstained  from  saying  "Blow  Dr.  Prodgett !"  partly  from 
a  sub-consciousness  that  his  doing  so  would  not  be  due  only  to 
impatience  about  vaccination.  He  was  really  a  little  nettled  at  the 
thankfulness  to  Providence  not  having  had  a  more  definite  refer- 
ence to  Alice.  It  was  only  fair-play  he  was  asking  for :  there  was 
no  trace  of  a  claim  for  more  than  equality  for  Alice.  Besides,  he 
had  been  breathing  free  about  Pierre  for  more  than  a  month,  and 
Alice's  deliverance  was  quite  recent.  So  Charles  didn't  blow  Dr. 
Prodgett,  in  order  to  show  no  impatience  about  Alice.  He  only 
said,  rather  drily,  "No  doubt  he  would,"  and  left  the  field  to  his 
mother.  After  all,  she  was  well  on  in  the  seventies,  and  if  she  did 
half -forget  Alice,  was  it  not  through  her  devotion  to  Pierre? 

"Eemember  too,  my  dear  Charles — only  it  is  a  subject  painful  to 
refer  to  and  perhaps  I  do  wrong  to  refer  to  it.  .  .  ." 

"There  can  be  nothing  to — to  not  talk  about,  between  you  and 
me,  dear  mother.  .  .  ." 

"Quite  so,  my  dear.  You  are  right  to  say  so.  I  was  going  to 
say  (only  I  remember  that  painful  news  we  had)  that  it  is  not  as 
though  the  darling  boy  had  the  constitution  to  which  his  birth  as  an 
Englishman  entitles  him.  I  can  never  forget  that  Lavinia  Straker 
was,  on  one  side  at  least,  a  Frenchwoman." 

"What  can  his  mother's  nationality  have  to  do  with  Pierre  not 
taking  when  vaccinated?" 

"My  dear  Charles,  if  you  would  not  be  so  impatient  with  me  I 
would  tell  you.  I  should  never  have  alluded  to  Lavinia  Straker, 
knowing  all  I  do,  except  to  lay  stress  on  the  fact  that  she  need  not 
be  referred  to  between  us.  That  is  indisputable."  Here  Charles 
made  up  his  mind  to  dispute  nothing,  and  leave  the  old  lady  carte- 
blanche.    She  continued:  "But  I  may  speak  of  Pierre's  parentage 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  375 

as  an  abstraction.  Had  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  have  an  Eng- 
lish mother,— I  have  Dr.  Prodgett's  word  for  this,— it  would  have 
been  much  easier  to  pronounce  in  his  case.  I  cannot  blame  you, 
my  dear  boy,  for  this — nor  would  I  if  I  could.  But  neither  can  I 
blame  myself.  My  worst  enemy  could  not  say  that  I  did  not  point 
out  the  dangers  of  my  dear  son's  unhappy  marriage.  .  ,  ."  Here 
Charles  felt  that  carte-blanche  was  being  taken  too  much  advan- 
tage of,  and  withdrew  it. 

"Surely,  Mother,  there  is  no  need  to  go  back  to  that  now."  There 
is  a  shade  of  suppressed  asperity  in  his  voice.  The  old  lady  inten- 
sified her  meekness,  but  maintained  her  dignity. 

"My  dear,  have  I  not  been  careful  to  say  that  I  have  only  referred 
to  this  subject  as  one  that  it  is  not  necessary  for  us  to  go  back  to  ? 
Do  me  justice.  I  only  ask  for  justice.  No  one  who  knows — (and 
who  should  know,  if  not  yourself  ? — my  own  son ! — ^how  painful  that 
unhappy  affair  was  to  me — however  little  I  said  at  the  time!) — 
can  possibly  imagine  that  it  is  any  pleasure  to  me  to  speak  of  it." 
Here  a  disposition  to  tears.  "But  I  failed  to  make  myseK  heard 
then,  and  now  it  will  be  the  same." 

Charles  saw  conciliation  would  be  the  better  part  of  discussion, 
and  said,  good-humouredly,  "I  don't  see.  Grandmamma  dear,  how 
poor  Lav  comes  into  the  matter."  The  name  Grandmamma  has 
always  a  propitiatory  effect,  and  the  old  lady  softens.  Logically  the 
reverse  should  have  been  the  case,  but  we  have  explained  that  she 
regarded  "Lavinia  Straker"  as  an  intruder  into  the  realm  of  parent- 
age, who  had  usurped  the  function  of  Pierre's  real  parent,  an  Eng- 
lishwoman still  at  large. 

"That  is  exactly  the  point,  my  dear.  She  does  not  come  in,  and 
we  need  not  talk  about  what  is  painful  to  both  of  us." 

Charles  got  up  from  his  chair,  throwing  away  a  cigarette  per- 
misse — as  the  windows  were  open  to  the  warm  night-air — and  went 
across  to  his  mother  and  kissed  her.  He  would  have  liked  to  talk 
about  Alice,  and  hoped  "Lavinia  Straker"  was  clear  out  of  the 
conversation.  But  he  was  premature.  The  kiss  proved  only  a 
stepping-stone  to  a  new  treatment  of  the  subject. 

"That  is  my  dear  boy.  I  know,  dear  Charles,  that  you  are  always 
good  at  heart,  if  a  little  unreasonable.  .  .  .  Well,  my  dear — you 
are  a  little  unreasonable.  Because  it  is  impossible  and  absurd 
to  pretend  that  Lavinia" — concession  here;  Straker  omitted — "was 
not  on  one  side  a  Frenchwoman.  You  have  thrown  half  your 
cigarette  away.    Now  you  may  smoke  another."    More  concession. 

"Anyhow,"  says  Charles,  determined  to  make  matters  pleasaiit, 
"Lav's  French  parentage  was  better  than  her  EngUsh  one." 


376  ALICE-EOE-SHOET 

"My  dear,  I  am  not  mentioning  Lavinia,  as  I  promised  you  just 
now.  I  am  speaking  of  the  race  as  a  race.  No  one  can  deny  that 
Frenchwomen,  as  a  race,  are  frivolous  and  unfaithful  to  their 
husbands.  .  .  ." 

Charles  kept  his  temper.  "Come,  I  say.  Mother,"  said  he,  "not  all 
of  them!" 

"No,  my  dear  Charles,  not  all!  I  am  willing  to  admit  that  there 
are  exceptions.  But  the  exceptions  prove  the  rule,  and  the  more 
numerous  and  conspicuous  the  exceptions,  the  more  firmly  the  rule 
holds  good.  If  your  father  were  here  he  would  say  so.  Ask  any 
one.  .  .  .    What's  that.  Partridge?" 

Actually  our  old  friend  Partridge,  come  to  see  if  her  mistress  is 
ripe  for  a  night's  rest.  No — she  isn't,  but  will  be  the  moment  Mr. 
Charles  has  finished  his  cigarette.  Partridge  is  sixteen  years  older 
than  she  was  when  she  first  established  a  sort  of  proprietorship 
over  Alice.  She  is  not  inclined  to  relinquish  it  altogether  now, 
for  all  the  Hospital-nurses  in  Christendom,  Hence  suppressed 
ructions  between  herself  and  Sister  Eulalie — a  usurper!  It  is 
rather  hard,  you  see,  when  you  have  been  re-vaccinated  on  purpose 
to  give  an  unqualified  welcome  to  an  ex-smallpox-patient,  to  have 
an  unexpected  Sister  thrust  herself  in  and  keep  you  off. 

"Never  mind.  Partridge,"  says  Charles.  "To-morrow  she'll  go, 
and  you'll  have  Alice  all  to  yourself." 

So  now,  as  Alice  is  comfortably  located  for  a  complete  conva- 
lescence, the  particulars  of  which  are  not  wanted  for  this  story,  we 
may  leave  her  to  enjoy  it,  and  you  may  fancy  for  yourself  how 
Charles  went  back  to  work  and  made  up  for  lost  time.  He  drew 
ten  cartoons  of  Breaches  of  Commandments  and  ten  Observances. 
And  also  began  a  picture  to  be  called,  "The  Shirt  of  Nessus" — the 
dying  centaur  giving  Dejanira  his  tunic  as  a  legacy. 

Whether  it  was  a  mere  accident  that  made  the  bride  of  Heracles 
much  more  like  Lavinia  Straker  than  ever  was  Regan,  we  do  not 
know.  But  she  turned  out  like  enough  to  make  Charles's  intimate 
friends,  on  analysing  the  story,  see  in  it  a  trace  of  the  leniency  with 
which  he  always  spoke  and  thought  of  his  wife's  desertion.  Jeff 
remarked  that  it  was  a  good  job  Charles  hadn't  a  poisoned  arrow  to 
send  after  his  Nessus.  He  never  regarded  the  disappearance  of 
Mrs.  Charles  Heath  as  an  unmixed  evil.  In  fact  he  expressed  sur- 
prise (to  Mr.  Pope)  that  Charles  had  lost  an  opportunity  of  immor- 
talising his  late  wife  in  a  "Breach"  medallion  of  the  second  window 
for  West  Eastleigh. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

A  SUDDEN  CASE  OF  CATALEPSY.  THE  NAME  WAS  VERRINDEH.  HOW  SIR 
RUPERT  ADVOCATED  TREPHINING  OLD  JANE.  WAS  THE  OLD  OAK- 
CHEST  WORSE?  WHY  VERRINDER  WATCHED  BEDLAM.  HOW  CHARLES 
BELONGED  TO  THE  GENERATION  OF  PEN-VIPERS 

"Ir  I  could  only  get  some  sort  of  coolness  between  them,  so  that 
they  would  quarrel  and  make  it  up  again,  like  regular  lovers, 
there  would  be  some  chance " 

Peggy  is  speaking  to  her  husband  three  months  after  the  end  of 
last  chapter.    Let  her  go  on: — 

"But  it's  perfectly  useless.  If  I  try  talking  to  each  of  them  about 
the  other's  little  affairs — imaginary  ones  you  understand  ?  .  .  ." 

"I  understand." 

".  .  .  it  only  ends  in  Charles  investigating  through  all  Alice's 
applicants  and  saying  they're  not  half  good  enough,  and  Alice 
raking  up  Lady  Anstruther  Paston-Forbes." 

"Why,  she's  married  a  curate!" 

"I  daresay  she  has.  I'm  sick  of  her,  anyhow !"  Pe^y  pauses  a 
few  seconds,  presumably  to  allow  of  her  ladyship's  decent  interment 
in  a  country  parish,  and  then  goes  on:  "I  suppose  now  Alice  will 
look  up  some  other  dazzling  meteor  for  Charley,  and  turn  her  on. 
It's  all  so  unsatisfactory! " 

"Let  'em  alone,  wife,  let  'em  alone.  'Over  rocks  that  are  steepest,' 
don't  you  know  ?"  Sir  Rupert  is  making  entries  in  his  Diary  in  his 
own  room,  and  his  voice  heard  through  the  open  door  between  it 
and  his  wife's  bedroom  gives  a  hint  of  preoccupation. 

"You're  not  listening,  Dr.  Jomson." — For  this  is  the  family 
name,  par  excellence,  for  its  head.  It  is  a  tribute  to  Alice's  status 
in  it  from  childhood. 

"Fire  away,  darling!  I'm  listening  now." — And  Peggy  hears 
^the  Diary  slapped  to.  She  hopes  he  won't  begin  stropping  a  razor 
next.  But  sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.  She  con- 
tinues, seriously: 

"If  I  dared,  I  would  do  as  you  said — speak  straight  to  Charley, 
and  tell  him  I  don't  believe  Alice  will  ever  be  really  happy  with 
any  one  else.  But  just  think — if  I  were  to  make  a  blunder — do 
it  all  wrong!    I  might  just  spoil  all." 

377 


k 


Ble  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

"Don't  do  it  if  you  feel  afraid.  But  I  don't  think  I  should  feel 
much  afraid,  if  I  were  a  woman." 

**Why  don't  you  do  it  now?" 

"Because  a  man  speaking  to  a  man  on  the  subject  always  has  a 
flavour  of  a  moral  lecture." 

"Why  hasn't  a  woman  ?" 

"Because  a  woman  may  be  undertaking  a  confession  for  a  friend. 
A  man  would  be  supposed  to  act  in  consequence  of  something 
noticed  in  behaviour ;  attentions — that  sort  of  game !" 

"Charley  wouldn't  mind  anything  from  you." 

"He  wouldn't  be  angry  with  me,  I  know.  But  would  the  end  be 
gained?  I  doubt  it.  It's  ticklish,  anyhow!  I'm  bound  to  say  I 
had  much  sooner  let  it  alone." 

Sir  Rupert  comes  out  of  his  room,  dressing-gowned.  Peggy  is 
in  like  plight,  sitting  before  the  fire.  The  wind  is  north,  and  we 
shall  have  snow,  and  poor  Kobin  will  very  soon  be  sitting  in  a  barn. 
Fires  are  welcome,  and  Sir  Rupert  isn't  sorry  to  roast  himself  a 
little  before  going  to  bed. 

"Don't  fret  about  it,  dear  love!"  he  says;  "it  will  all  turn  out 
right,  left  to  itself.  You  see  if  it  doesn't!" — But  Peggy's  anxious 
beauty  only  clears  a  little;  the  cloud  hangs.  Still,  the  hand  that 
comes  caressingly  round  her  head  has  reassurance  in  it.  It  is  like 
her  husband's  voice.    Both  make  matters  better  than  they  find  them. 

"I  won't  fret,  dear!"  says  Peggy,  and  means  not  to.  But  she 
isn't  sure  what  she  ought  to  do,  and  she  remains  as  one  who  con- 
siders.   He  talks  of  something  else,  to  clear  the  cobwebs. 

"Talking  of  love-affairs,  I  went  to  Bedlam  to-day.  They're  all 
against  me  about  that  case  except  Paisley." 

"Let's  see!  What  case  was  that?  The  girl  that  eats  the 
needles  ?" 

"No — no!  She's  at  the  Hospital.  I  mean  the  very  old  woman 
who  never  speaks;  has  been  fed  with  a  spoon  for  fifty  years — you 
know?" 

"I  think  I  remember.    She  moves  about  though,  doesn't  she  ?" 

"Hardly  that!  Still  she  does  move  and  takes  nourishment,  so 
that  there  is  no  difficulty  in  dealing  with  the  case,  from  the  nurses* 
point  of  view.  But  it  is  all  like  an  automaton.  In  a  certain  sense 
her  health  is  wonderful.  She  must  be  nearly  ninety,  but  is 
extraordinarily  well  preserved." 

"Well  ? — you  were  going  to  say  ?" 

"I  was  going  to  say  that  they  had  a  consultation  over  the  case  at 
my  suggestion,  and  that  they  won't  have  it — except  Paisley — that 
she's  a  case  of  traumatic  insanity.    I'm  sure  she  is.     It  was  not 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  379 

found  out  at  the  beginning — ten  years  nearly  before  sbe  came  into 
the  Hospital,  and  then  she  was  badly  diagnosed,  I  suspect.  And 
I  believe  there  would  be  a  possibility — it's  only  a  possibility,  mind ! 
— that  if  she  were  trepanned  some  mental  revival  might  take  place. 
But  I'm  the  only  person  it  has  ever  occurred  to  that  it  might  be  a 
case  for  operating.  It  would  be  very  int^esting  to  try,  at  any 
rate." 

''Would  it  be  right  T 

"Perhaps.  Possibly  even  a  release  from  a  long  agony — an  incon- 
ceivable release.  Baron  Trenck  would  be  a  trifle  by  comparison. 
Anyway,  it  wouldn't  be  wrong  because  it  was  intensely  inter- 
esting." 

**No,  darling!    I  didn't  mean  that — ^you  know?" 

"I  don't  want  to  slice  people  up  for  a  lark.  But  there  are  cases — 
and  I  think  this  is  one " 

"What  is  known  of  how  it  began?"  Peggy's  thoughts  have  got 
free  of  her  perplexity,  and  she  is  getting  interested  in  the  Case. 

"The  description  in  the  Register  at  the  Asylum — it's  fifty  years 
old  now ! — just  fancy !  it  was  standing  there  near  ten  years  before 
we  were  born " 

Peggy  shudders.  It  is  too  appalling  to  bear  thinking  of.  Rupert 
continues : — 

" says  she  was  found  one  day  by  her  husband  seated  at  the 

foot  of  the  stairs,  in  the  state  in  which  she  remains  now.  She  was 
not  brought  into  the  Asylum  for  a  long  time  after.  There  was  then 
no  trace  of  a  lesion  on  the  head  or  spine.  My  own  belief  is  that 
if  she  had  been  properly  examined  at  first  something  would  have 
been  found.  But  the  husband  doesn't  seem  to  have  been  very 
sharp  about  it." 

"Didn't  care,  perhaps?" 

"On  the  contrary,  he  was  heartbroken.  Lived  for  thirty  years 
in  a  place  close  by,  that  he  might  be  at  hand  if  a  lucid  interval 
came.    None  ever  came.    He's  been  dead  a  long  time." 

What  strange  tricks  memory  plays  us  when  she  has  the  field  to 
herself!  A  good  honest  wench,  and  serviceable,  is  she  when  any 
check  is  at  hand,  to  keep  her  in  order  and  make  her  do  her  duty. 
She  only  wants  the  slightest  reminder,  and  there  she  is,  ready  at 
her  post  to  act  when  called  on,  or  candidly  to  confess  to  failure. 
But  leave  her  in  empty  space  (we  ought  to  say  empty  time,  in  her 
case)  without  a  monitor  of  any  sort  in  sight,  and  behold! — in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  she  changes  to  a  disorderly  slattern  that  will 
do  nothing;  and  then,  in  the  twinkling  of  another  eye,  into  an  imp 
of  the  activity  of  a  wildcat  and  the  mendacity  of  a  Jack-o'-lantem. 


380  ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 

Don't  say  that  it  is  impossible  that  Peggy  and  her  husband  can 
have  forgotten  Verrinder  and  Charles's  report  of  his  death,  and 
gone  on  with  their  conversation  as  though  they  had  never  heard 
of  it.  Take  account  of  sixteen  mortal  years,  and  recollect  that 
you  read  it  yesterday.  We  will  answer  for  it  that  neither  of  them 
at  the  moment  connected  Verrinder  with  this  case  of  catalepsy. 

**What  a  terrible  story!    What  is  her  name?" 

"Do  you  know  ? — now  it's  very  funny — but  either  I've  never  been 
told,  or  I've  forgotten.  The  name  was  on  the  register  too — Mac- 
farlane — Brindley — what  was  it? — Very  funny!" 

"But  what  do  they  call  her  at  the  Asylum?" 

"Oh — they  call  her  Old  Jane.  I  don't  know  if  her  name  is  really 
Jane.     It  doesn't  follow." 

Old  Jane !  Sixty  years  of  torpor !  And  the  man  that  loved  her, 
that  she  loved,  waiting — waiting — a  stone's  throw  off,  for  a  lucid 
interval  that  never  came.  Oh,  but  it  was  grisly !  Peggy  felt  quite 
sick  to  think  of  it.  She  shut  her  eyes  tight,  tried  to  grasp  what 
it  would  have  been,  had  it  been  herself  and  Rupert.  And  it  might 
have  been,  for  that  matter.  Just  a  knock  on  the  head,  enough  to 
depress  the  skull  (if  Rupert  was  right)  but  not  enough  to  cause 
merciful  death, — and  then  sixty  years  of  life — such  life!  How- 
ever, of  course  it  was  quite  possible  that  Old  Jane  was  insane 
constitutionally,  and  that  accident  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  That 
would  be  much  less  shocking,  somehow.  You  say  why,  perhaps? 
But  is  it  not  true  that  a  life  all  warped  and  twisted,  by  a  trivial 
miscarriage,  is  more  shocking  than  when  it  bears  the  hallmark  of 
an  unseen  mystery — something  that  looks  like  the  well-considered 
fiat  of  a  malignant  Destiny,  not  an  unintentional  stab  of  Chance  ? 
The  higher  metaphysic  will  no  doubt  point  out  that  there  is  really 
no  such  thing  as  Chance.  But  it  won't  point  out  what  constitutes 
the  strange  thing,  Chance,  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as. 

Peggy  and  her  husband  talked  so  long  and  so  late  about  Old 
Jane,  that  Lucy  their  eldest  daughter  (we  have  not  seen  her,  so 
far),  who  slept  overhead,  wondered  what  on  earth  papa  and  mamma 
were  going  on  about.  And  just  on  the  point  of  dropping  asleep, 
m.amma  suddenly  half -roused  up  and  asked  (somewhat  in  the  man- 
ner of  an  inquisitive  dormouse  in  January)  whether  the  name 
wasn't  Verrinder.  But  papa  had  quite  stopped  going  off,  and  had 
gone  off,  past  recall. 

"What,  on,  earth,"  said  Miss  Lucy,  when  she  appeared  next  morn- 
ing— she  was  Miss  Johnson,  please  you,  and  going  to  be  fifteen  very 
soon. — "What — on — earth,  were  you   and  mamma  talking  about 


^  ALICE-FOR-SHORT  881 

late  last  night?  Talk— talk— talk— talk— talk— talk !  I  thought 
you  were  never  going  to  stop  and  go  to  sleep." 

"We  were  talking,"  replies  her  father,  mendaciously,  "about  little 
pussy  cats,  and  how  they  ought  to  kiss  their  father  on  both  sides, 
instead  of  only  one." 

"Nonsense,  puppy !"— But  the  broad  hint  was  taken  for  all  that. 
"Do  come  and  help  me  to  manage  him.  Aunty  Lissy.  You  know 
you  can  always  make  him  reasonable."  Lucy's  mother  used  to  say 
she  reminded  her  strongly  of  her  Aunt  Ellen  when  she  was  a  girl. 

Alice  is  making  tea  at  this  moment  in  the  story.  When  you 
are  making  tea  you  don't  answer  chits.  But  when  you  have  filled 
the  pot  quite  up  to  the  top,  then  you  answer  the  chits,  and  tell  them 
to  kiss  you  on  both  sides,  as  well  as  papa.  At  least  Alice  did  so, 
in  this  case. 

"And  there  is  no  bad  side,  and  I  don't  care  what  you  say,  Aunty 
Lissy.  You  can't  feel  it  with  your  lips,  if  you  try  ever  so."  The 
chit  tries  ever  so.  Others  try  ever  so  too,  and  our  old  Alice  bids 
fair  to  be  suffocated  under  this  course  of  experimental  research. 
One  has  to  pay  penalties  for  extreme  popularity. 

As  Peggy  appears,  rather  later  than  the  world  generally,  we 
can't  help  being  reminded  of  that  other  breakfast-table,  years  ago, 
at  Hyde  Park  Gardens.  We  see  that  Peggy  is  on  her  way  to  her 
mother's  majesty  of  form  (suppose  we  call  it)  and  it  can't  be 
helped.  If  she  could  only  achieve  a  certain  pomposity — ("poor 
Grandmamma !") — we  should  feel  that  she  was  on  the  road  to  gen- 
eral identification.  But  she  doesn't  come  up  to  the  mark.  We  see 
the  likeness  of  the  confidence  and  youth  of  now  to  that  of  old;  that 
Lucy  is  as  cocksure  of  everything  in  Heaven  and  Earth  as  her 
Aunt  Ellen  was  before  her;  that  poor  little  drowned  Dan's  posthu- 
mous namesake  (given  the  chance)  would  go  on  the  ice  in  defiance 
of  park-keepers,  even  as  he  did.  Let  us  hope  no  such  thing  may 
happen,  and  that  Lucy  may  not  marry  a  reprobate  in  the  face  of 
every  warning,  and  be  left  a  young  widow  dependent  on  relations 
after  paying  all  her  dear  husband's  debts,  gambling  and  otherwise. 

We  see  all  these  things,  and  then  we  see  there  is  a  thing  we  miss. 
It  is  Alice-for-short.  There  are  midgets  and  poppets  in  this  house 
too,  but  if  they  were  downstairs  now  and  not  in  the  nursery,  we 
should  see  they  belonged  to  another  type  of  midget  and  poppet. 
We  are  glad  to  find  that  the  young  woman  who  is  corra?ting  the 
effects  of  what  amounted  to  a  scrimmage,  before  sitting  down  to 
breakfast,  actually  reminds  us  of  what  Alice-for-short  was  then. 

"Well,  children,  I  hope  you're  satisfied.  Aunty  Lissy  is  going 
to  have  tea,  thank  you !    And  you  may  pour  it  out  for  her.  Juicy 


382  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

dear,  and  save  her  the  trouble.  And  you  boys  may  hand  her  the 
hot  rolls  from  the  fender;  only  don't  fight  for  which  it's  to  be." 
Juicy  is  of  course  Lucy,  who  proceeds  to  predominate  over  the 
serving  out  of  tea  and  coffee. 

"I  tell  you  what.  Aunty  Lissy" — it  is  Rupert  who  speaks — "if 
you  don't  look  alive  and  settle  up  about  who  he's  to  be,  you  won't 

get  the  benefit  of  your  marks "     Two  or  three  demands  are 

made  for  explanation. 

"Why ! — wasn't  your  epidermis  going  to  keep  worthless,  shallow, 
thingummy-bobs,  and  mere  something-or-others  at  a  distance? 
Briled  rasher?  yes — pass  your  Aunty  the  mustard  along  with  it, 
Dan,  and  don't  spill  it  over  the  tablecloth." 

"You've  given  me  the  whole  dish  full.  No,  Dr.  Jomson — come 
now — be  reasonable!  It  wasn't  me  said  that.  It  was  mamma." — 
This  is  the  name  Peggy  is  known  by  whenever  there  is  a  quorum 
of  children. 

"Was  it  me  ?  I  hope  not.  It's  too  much  like  a  book  for  a  good 
boy." 

"All  I  can  say  is,"  Alice  goes  on,  "that  if  Mr.  Charley's  next 
great  find  for  me  comes  and  says: — 'See  how  I  love  you  in  spite 
of  your  repulsive  physiognomy,'  I  shall  just "  But  she  is  inter- 
rupted by  Dan,  who  wants  to  know  what  physiognomy  means. 

"It's  long  for  mug."  And  Dan  retires  for  the  time  to  reflect. 
*'There  now !  that  boy's  made  me  forget  what  I  was  going  to  say !" 

"Do  you  know,"  interposes  the  great  physician,  "last  night 
mamma  asked  me  quite  suddenly  what  an  old  woman's  name  was, 
and  I  knew  it,  I  know ;  and  her  asking  knocked  it  clean  out  of  my 
head,  and  I  haven't  been  able  to  get  it  back  since." 

"Of  course  you  did !"  says  Peggy,  looking  up,  "and  I  recollected 
it  afterwards,  and  you  were  asleep!" — Sir  Rupert  expresses  bewil- 
derment by  ruffling  his  hair,  and  glaring.  "Well,  that  is  a  little 
incomprehensible,  I  admit.  But  I  recollected  what  the  name  must 
be.  Of  course  it  was  Verrinder.  And  that  poor  fellow  Charley 
knew,  that  died — oh!  before  ever  we  were  married,  must  have  been 
her  husband  ?" 

Rupert  sits  still  with  an  animated  face,  letting  memory  revive 
and  take  possession.  "Of  course !  I  recollect  it  all  now.  Fancy  my 
never  putting  two  and  two  together!" 

One  of  Time's  odd  revenges,  or  paradoxes,  is  that  Alice  shows  no 
interest  at  all  in  this  reminiscence.  But  is  it  really  odd,  seeing 
she  was  six  when  it  happened  ?  She  certainly  shows  none,  and  while 
Peggy  and  her  husband  talk  about  Verrinder,  she  explains  to  Dan 
the  meaning  of  the  word  mug,  metaphorically  used.    Dan  has  come 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  383 

out  of  his  maze  of  thought,  and  demanded  light,  more  light.  But 
Peggy  brings  Alice  back  into  her  section  of  the  conversation,  say- 
ing, "Alice  dear,  do  listen  to  this.  You  ought  to  be  interested  in 
it  because  it's  all  mixed  up  with  your  ring."  On  which  Alice  does 
one  of  the  little  illogical  things  one  so  often  does,  in  reality  and 
out  of  fiction,  and  immediately  looks  at  her  ring,  with  her  pretty 
fingers  stretched  out  for  its  best  advantage.  "Why  my  ring?"  she 
asks. 

"Because,  Miss  Kavanagh,  this  Verrinder  was  the  queer  old 
artist  Charles  knew,  that  had  the  portrait  Phillips  was  called  after, 
that  was  supposed  to  have  been  painted  at  No.  40.  And  was  sup- 
posed to  have  been  connected  with  your  ghost.  And  was  supposed 
to  have  had  to  do  with  the  murder  in  the  cellar." 

"Oh,  I  remember!  They  dug  up  bones." — Thus  far  Alice,  in 
response  to  explanation  as  above,  given  mixedly  by  Peggy  and  her 
husband.  We  have  to  keep  on  recollecting  Alice's  age  sixteen 
years  ago,  to  account  for  the  way  she  accepts  the  story  as  a  passing 
interest,  nowise  vital.  The  ring  had  always  been  to  her  a  ring 
with  an  odd  association,  half -forgotten,  that  had  as  it  were  wanted 
to  spell  Phyllis  and  failed.  There  had  been  some  talk  of  the  story 
since;  as  when  Phillips  was  christened  Phyllis  Cartwright  John- 
son, in  a  freak,  at  the  time  Charles  had  the  old  picture  out  and 
was  discussing  if  it  should  be  cleaned  or  not.  But  even  about  her 
own  ghost,  Alice  was,  as  Charles  said,  a  weak-kneed  witness.  If 
you  are  about  twenty-three,  turn  to  and  try  recollections  of  six  and 
seven,  and  you  won't  wonder  at  Alice. 

However,  she  on  reflection  acquired  a  strong  vicarious  interest 
in  the  subject.  She  recollected  how  interesting  it  would  be  to  Mr. 
Charley  to  hear  all  about  it  when  he  came  in  the  evening.  Also, 
as  soon  as  she  fully  assimilated  the  story  of  Old  Jane,  she  felt 
excited  to  see  how  the  experiment  would  turn  out,  if  it  were  ever 
tried. 

There  were  a  good  many  difficulties  in  the  way  of  this.  All  the 
Asylum  was  against  it,  except  Dr.  Paisley,  mentioned  by  Rupert  as 
his  only  supporter.  Its  strongest  opponent  was  Dr.  Fludyer,  whom 
we  recollect  at  the  time  of  Verrinder's  death,  and  who  was  in  fact 
the  only  person  who  could  be  considered  to  be  his  representative. 
He  had  what  Rupert  called  a  strong  inverse  interest  in  the  life  of 
Old  Jane,  because  a  sum  of  money  left  with  him  as  trustee  for 
her,  was  to  come  to  him  at  her  death.  This  made  him  morbidly 
sensitive  about  any  departure  from  the  routine  of  fifty  years.  So 
long  as  no  change  was  made,  he  was  safe  from  imputation  of  an 
unpleasant  sort.    He  certainly  would  not  consent  to  an  experiment 


384  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

which  could  at  hest  only  give  one  chance  in  a  thousand  of  any 
benefit  to  the  patient;  and,  which,  ten  chances  to  one,  might  end 
in  her  death  during  the  operation.  Sir  Rupert,  who  was  a  very  old 
friend  of  his,  said  to  him:  "You  know,  Fludyer,  I  have  only  a 
scientific  interest  in  the  case.  And  I  have  no  locus  standi.  For 
I  am  not  even  attached  to  the  Hospital.  All  I  say  is,  that  if  Old 
Jane  were  my  mother,  I  would  make  the  trial."  Fludyer  replied: 
"So  would  I,  on  the  strength  of  an  opinion  like  yours,  if  she  were 
my  mother.  But  she  isn't,  and  at  her  death  I  should  come  into  a 
thousand  pounds  in  consols.  I  would  rather  she  died  a  perfectly 
natural  death." 

"You  admit  then,"  said  Sir  Rupert,  "that  you  are  grudging  this 
poor  old  remnant  a  chance  you  would  give  your  mother,  in  order  to 
avoid  an  imputation  no  man  who  knew  anything  about  you  would 
attach  the  slightest  weight  to." 

"Would  you  guarantee  her  surviving  the  operation,  Johnson  ?" 

"No — I  wouldn't!    Nor  your  mother's  either,  cceteris  paribus." 

"You  don't  understand.  What  I  mean  is  that  nobody  would 
impute  mere  selfish  scientific  interest — nor  even  a  wish  for  a  thou- 
sand pounds — as  a  motive  in  the  case  of  a  son  and  raother." 

"Quite  a  mistake !  There  is  a  large  and  influential  public  which 
believes  that  the  Faculty  of  Medicine  is  only  restrained  by  Law 
from  vivisecting  its  wives  and  daughters  under  anaesthetics;  and 
a  still  larger  one  that  credits  it  with  readiness  to  do  the  same  with- 
out anaesthetics  for  a  thousand  pounds — mother,  father,  anybody, 
even  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation.  Never  mind  them!  Give 
the  old  woman  a  chance.    If  you  do  kill  her  she'll  be  grateful." 

"You  don't  know  that." 

"Don't  I  ?  Well !  she's  not  altogether  in  her  right  mind — so  per- 
haps I  don't!" 

A  short  time  after  this  conversation  Sir  Rupert  got  a  note  from 
Dr.  Fludyer,  as  follows: — 

"I  have  managed  to  assign  my  trusteeship  to  the  Hospital,  as 
well  as  the  interest  in  the  reversion.  My  colleagues  know  why  I 
have  done  this.  I  shouldn't  at  all  wonder  if  a  good  many  changes 
of  opinion  came  about  in  the  matter  of  Old  Jane.  I  fancy  the 
opposition  was  a  good  deal  my  doing.  .  .  ." 

"I  do  hope  you're  right,  dearest,"  said  Peggy,  when  he  read  her 
this  letter. 

"I  shall  have  no  doubt  I  am  if  they  all  come  round.  But  I  shall 
say  nothing  further  to  influence  them.  I  told  them  my  opinion 
because  it  was  and  is  my  opinion.  But  the  case  is  theirs,  and 
they  must  take  the  responsibility  of  deciding." 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  385 

"Well  now— I  call  that  mean!" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!  If  they  settle  to  do  it,  I  shall  back  them 
up.  But  I  shan't  say  more  than  I  have  done.  They  know  what 
I  think."  And  then  his  wife  felt  certain  that  sooner  or  later  the 
trial  would  be  made. 

Meanwhile,  Old  Jane — that  was  young  Jane  once — ^was  a  case 
in  a  ward.  She  was  young  Jane  once,  young  and  active  Jane, 
with  a  life  before  her  to  Hve,  with  another  young  life  (so  it  trans- 
pired afterwards)  to  come  and  to  be  lived  for  later,  when  that 
strange  unforeseen  mischance  consigned  her  to  a  living  death, 
with  the  husband  she  had  loved  watching  by  the  tomb,  waiting  for 
news  that  the  corpse  had  moved,  for  a  gleam  of  hope  that  he  might 
see  the  dismantled  home  replenished,  and  the  fires  burning  again 
upon  the  hearths.  Think  how  he  must  have  started  at  every  step 
upon  the  stairs,  how  he  must  have  said  to  himself  a  thousand  times, 
"It  may  be — at  last !" — and  how  it  was  a  mistake,  or  a  parcel,  or  a 
letter  with  nothing  in  it.  Think  how,  one  by  one,  the  friends  he 
had  had  died  away,  and  he  had  no  heart  for  more,  even  had  he  had 
the  power  to  draw  them  to  him.  But  the  springs  grew  brackish  in 
that  desert,  and  then  dried  up.  And  the  canker  of  his  loneliness 
crept  into  his  heart,  and  his  life  grew  to  be  a  blank,  a  long  drawn- 
out  pause,  an  awaiting  of  a  thing  that  came  not;  a  silence  with  a 
listener  in  it — a  listener  for  a  word  that  was  stiU  as  possible — so 
they  said  who  should  know — as  on  the  day  when  he  found  his  wife 
speechless  at  the  stairfoot,  at  the  beginning  of  the  silence,  and 
wondered  why  she  did  not  speak. 

Poor  old  Jane,  that  was  young  Jane  once !  That  was  alive,  and 
spoke  and  breathed  and  moved  in  the  days  before  the  battle  of 
Waterloo;  the  days  before  any  railway  with  trains  worth  men- 
tioning on  it,  or  any  paddleboat  on  the  Atlantic,  with  its  trium- 
phant record  of  nine  miles  an  hour  all  the  way  from  Bristol  to 
New  York;  the  days  before  the  Twopenny  Post  and  Winsor's 
Patent  Gas.  In  those  days  her  awful  home  of  half-a-century  was 
unbuilt ;  and  the  fields  were  green  near  where  it  stands ;  and  mile- 
stones told  the  foot-traveUer  on  the  Lambeth  Road  that  he  was  one 
from  Westminster  and  two  from  London.  For  then  Bethlehem 
Hospital  was  in  Moorfields,  far  enough  away,  and  "The  Magdalen" 
stood  where  it  stands  now;  and  its  patients  were  under  treatment, 
in  those  days,  with  leg-locks  and  surprise-baths,  and  rotatory  chairs. 
Lucky  for  Jane  that  while  this  System  was  in  vogue  she  was  still 
yoimg  Jane,  and  the  daughter  of  a  fashionable  portrait-painter 
who  was  having  a  high  old  time  at  No.  40,  our  old  house  in  Soho; 


386  ALICE-FOE-SHOET     . 

where  she  was  requiting  the  passion  of  his  young  assistant,  whose 
employment  was  to  put  his  tablecloth,  his  chair-back,  his  bit  of 
drapery,  his  landscape  background,  into  his  fashionable  portrait. 
This  father  of  hers  had  a  very  good  standing  in  his  day ;  and  even 
now  the  fortimate  owner  of  one  of  his  works  will  say  to  you,  "That's 
a  Sleezle,"  with  confidence  that  you  will  be  au  fait  of  Sleezles. 
That  wasn't  his  real  name,  and  we  are  not  going  to  tell  it,  for  the 
same  reason  we  have  kept  secret  the  name  of  the  street  he  lived  in. 
He  was  there,  name  or  no,  and  painted  the  fashionable  portraits 
in  the  room  where  Charles  is  now  at  this  moment,  with  Alice,  who 
has  been  shopping  in  Oxford  Street  and  has  looked  in  to  pay  him  a 
visit,  telling  him  that  Dr.  Jomson  is  quite  excited  because,  owing 
to  his  advice,  they  are  going  to  trepan  the  old  lady  of  nearly  ninety 
at  Bethlehem  Hospital. 

"And  she  was  old  Verrinder's  wife!  Poor  old  chap!  Sixty 
years!" — Charles,  who  says  this,  is,  we  perceive,  going  to  leave  off 
bringing  his  picture  together  (that  is  what  he  was  doing)  and  to  fill 
a  pipe.  One  would  really  think,  from  the  amount  of  bringing 
together  they  require,  that  Charles's  pictures  were  painted  in  seg- 
ments, each  in  a  different  European  capital.  He  deserts  some  piece 
of  it  (so  to  speak)  on  its  way  from  Buda-Pesth  (for  instance)  and 
sits  down  on  one  of  those  boxes  with  an  S  perforated  in  them,  into 
which  valuables  get  and  rattle  for  ever  and  never  come  out.  He 
lights  the  pipe  and  sits  facing  Alice,  and  the  gloom  we  know  was 
on  his  face  before  she  came  in  has  vanished.  She  has  thrown  her- 
self into  the  chair  Miss  Straker  sat  in  as  Miss  Thiselton,  reading 
about  the  Octopus.  Her  hands  are  on  the  arms,  and  her  face  is 
bright  and  animated,  and  flushed  with  walking  in  the  cold,  clear 
weather.  And  you  really  can  only  just  see  any  mark,  bar  that  bad 
place  round  the  corner  where  people  kiss  you.  That,  it  seems,  was 
on  the  next  page  of  that  letter.  What  did  it  matter,  as  long  as  they 
kissed  you  ?    That  was  her  selfish  view. 

Alice  keeps  her  parcels  on  her  knee,  to  express  the  fuU  momen- 
tariness  of  the  proceeding.  "I  am  in  the  lap  of  a  bird  of  passage," 
they  seem  to  say.  She  very  often  pays  Charley  a  flying  visit  of  this 
sort,  but  always  defines  the  position  to  herself,  no  doubt  as  an 
apology  for  interrupting  business.  This  time  she  has  come  in 
to  tell  him  about  Rupert's  announcement  the  night  before.  It  is 
quite  true  he  will  be  at  Harley  Street  in  the  evening,  but  then — 
you  see — Alice  was  absolutely  passing  the  door. 

"Dr.  Fludyer  was  at  dinner  last  night,  and  Mr.  Lionel  Isaacson, 
who's  to  do  it."  Alice  continues  thus:  "We  were  so  sorry  you 
weren't  there." 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  387 

"It  was  Mrs.  Jeff's  birthday,  and  I  couldn't  be  off  going.  Did 
Fludyer  say  if  he's  found  out  any  more  about  Old  Jane  ?" 

"Oh  yes.  He  talked  a  good  deal  about  her,  and  told  us  lots  of 
things.  But  I  thought  it  was  the  twins'  birthday — or  the  twinses' — 
which  ought  it  to  be?" 

"I  prefer  twinses'.  But  it  was  most  of  their  birthdays.  They 
take  them  all  in  a  lump  now,  on  the  same  day.  We  had  a  most 
turbulent  evening.  But  tell  me  what  Fludyer  said  he'd  found 
out." 

"Well — he  hadn't  found  out  anything  new.  But  when  Miss 
Peggy  and  I  got  at  him,  of  course  we  made  him  talk  about  what 
Verrinder  had  told  him — ^heaps  more  than  Lord  Rupert  ever  did." 
This  was  another  sobriquet  of  Rupert,  used  in  this  case  as  a  sug- 
gestion that  its  owner  needn't  be  so  high  and  mighty  and  give  him- 
self airs,  because  we  could  collect  evidence  much  better  than  he. 
Verrinder  had  told  at  odd  times  a  good  deal  about  his  wedding. 
"It  was  a  regular  Gretna-Green  business.  They  actually  went  all 
the  way  to  Scotland,  and  were  pursued,  and  got  a  couple  of  people 
their  own  size  to  put  on  their  clothes  and  go  on  instead  of  them 
in  the  coach  to  York,  and  they  stayed  at  the  Inn  and  took  another 
coach  later.  Then  her  father  was  in  such  a  rage  he  never  would 
speak  to  her  or  see  her  after.  Dr.  Fludyer  says  he  never  saw  Ver- 
rinder really  smile  except  that  time  he  told  about  the  stage-coach 
trick." 

"Did  Fluyder  make  out  there  had  ever  been  a  reconcilia- 
tion?" 

"Oh  yes — there  was  no  reconciliation.  He  never  told  Dr.  Flud- 
yer the  father's  name.  But  they  never  made  it  up.  He  made  a 
little  by  illustrations  to  books — ^they  were  always  done  from  his 
wife." 

"I  think  I've  seen  one.  It  was  called  Melesinda.  She  was  being 
a  Beauty,  and  goggling  at  you." 

"I  know !  Well— poor  Jane,  or  Melesinda,  used  to  give  singing 
lessons  to  help  things  out.  And  they  were  awfully  poor  and  the 
father  never  would  help." 

"And  did  Fludyer  say  he  told  him  how  the  catalepsy,  or  whatever 
it  was,  began  ?" 

"Yes — only  he  says  he  didn't  tell  him  much.  Only  he  told  it 
over  and  over  again ;  so  he  recollects  it.  There  was  a  very  old  lady 
Melesinda  knew,  whom  he  called  her  father's  landlady — but  Dr. 
Fludyer  never  made  out  why,  or  what  she  was.  Either  she  had 
spent  the  evening  at  their  house,  or  they  at  hers.  Dr.  Fludyer 
wasn't  sure  which,  and  she  had  been  telling  them  odd  stories  of 


888  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

when  she  was  a  girl,  and  either  Melesinda — ^that's  Old  Jane,  you 
know " 

"I  know.    Go  ahead !" 

"Either  she  went  upstairs  to  bring  the  old  lady's  things  down  for 
her  to  go,  or  went  up  to  get  on  her  own,  one  or  the  other " 

"Doesn't  matter  which !    And  she  tumbled  downstairs  ?" 

"Just  that!  Only  you  might  have  let  me  do  the  climax,  Mr. 
Charley  dear !  Spoiling  my  story !  Well — they  heard  a  cry  and  a 
tumble  and  went  out  and  found  her  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs.  And  he  said  to  her,  'My  darling — are  you  hurt?' — And  she 
never  answered,  and  never  spoke  again." 

Alice's  voice  breaks  as  she  finishes  Dr.  Fludyer's  reminiscence. 
"Poor  old  Jane!"  says  Charles.  And  both  sit  silent  for  a  space. 
Then  Alice  speaks. 

"I  think  the  Old  Oak  Chest  was  worse,"  she  says. 

"Do  you?  I  don't!  Young  Lovell's  bride  was  dead  outright. 
And  as  for  young  Lovell,  I  expect  he  married  the  prettiest  brides- 
maid. Oh  no!  This  was  worse.  But  did  he  never  tell  Fludyer 
how  he  came  to  have  the  father's  pictures  ?" 

"Oh  yes — Dr.  Fludyer  did  say  something  about  that.  What  was 
it?  Oh,  /  remember.  He — the  father — died  a  year  or  so  after  the 
daughter  was  placed  in  the  Hospital.  All  his  belongings  went  to  a 
nephew,  who  wasn't  a  bad  fellow  and  allowed  Verrinder  to  choose 
a  dozen  of  the  pictures  provided  he  only  saw  the  backs.  So  Ver- 
rinder chose  from  them  with  their  faces  to  the  wall." 

"He  made  a  lucky  choice.  Bauerstein  has  just  sold  the  Turner 
for  eight  hundred.  I  suppose  that  was  when  he  noticed  the  name 
Phyllis  Cartwright."  But  Charles  didn't  say  the  last  two  words. 
He  only  thought  them,  and  Alice  wasn't  on  the  alert,  and  didn't 
ask  what  name. 

"Why  did  he  never  try  to  sell  them  ?" 

"I  can  understand  that.  There  was  nothing  to  be  gained  then 
by  withdrawing  her  from  the  Asylum.  Probably  she  was  better 
cared  for  there  than  she  would  have  been  elsewhere.  Besides,  he 
knew  the  value  of  the  pictures  would  go  up.  He  kept  on  hoping — 
poor  devil ! — for  news  of  a  gleam  of  light." 

"I  suppose  it  was  what  they  sold  for  that  made  up  most  of  the 
thousand  pounds  Dr.  Fludyer  talked  about." 

"I  was  told  they  fetched  two  hundred.  But  he  must  have  had 
something  of  his  own,  or  what  did  he  live  on  ?" 

"Dr.  Fludyer  supposes  he  ran  through  most  of  it  trying  to  keep 
up  his  home,  and  nurse  her.  And  then  when  he  was  beaten  at  that, 
he  got  her  into  the  Hospital  and  lived  on  a  shilling  a  day,  and 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  389 

spent  as  much  of  his  life  as  he  could  at  the  Royal  Academy  Schools. 
The  landlord  of  the  house  says  he  used  to  pass  whole  hours  outside 
on  the  roof,  looking  at  the  dome  of  the  Asylum." 

Charles's  face  clouds  over  slightly — "That's  how  I  shall  end  up," 
said  he.  "I  don't  mean  sitting  on  a  roof  looking  at  Bedlam,  I 
mean  messing  about  at  the  Schools.  Only  I  haven't  a  Life-Stu- 
dentship, by-the-bye !    Not  even  an  Academy  medallist !" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Charley!  What  affectation  and  nonsense!  You  know 
you're  only  fishing  for  compliments.  Why — 'The  Shirt  of  Nessus' 
is  the  best  thing  you've  ever  painted,  and  it's  to  be  done  by  April 
and  hung  on  the  line." 

"It  sounds  exactly  like  the  Wash,"  says  Charles.  "I  wonder 
whether  Nessus's  shirt  was  sent  home  starched,  and  pinned  to- 
gether without  cause,  and  Nessus  couldn't  get  the  pins  out  and 
used  an  expression."  Alice  laughs  with  pleasure  at  a  relaxation  in 
the  tone  of  the  conversation. 

"I  like  you  now!"  she  says,  "You've  come  out  of  the  dumps. 
But  you  know  what  I  think,  Mr,  Charley,  and  what  Mother  Peg 
thinks?"    Yet  another  nickname,  for  Peggy,  this  time. 

"No— what?" 

''Why,  we  both  think  you  would  succeed  in  the  other  as  well." 

"Which  other?    I  haven't  succeeded  in  this  one  yet." 

"Now,  that's  mere  affectation.  Don't  be  so  juvenile,  Mr,  Charley 
dear !  Why,  of  course.  Literature — Fiction — I  ought  to  know !  I'm 
a  literary  lady." 

"I  daresay  you  would  know,  Alice,  if  I  had  ever  written  any- 
thing." 

"That's  suppressio  veri  and  suggestio  falsi !  Besides,  it's  fibs !" — 
The  blue  eyes  get  more  serious  as  Alice  goes  on — "No — Mr.  Char- 
ley dearest !  I'll  deal  candidly  with  you.  I  stole  a  manuscript  of 
yours  and  read  it." 

"Hullo!" 

"Yes,  I  did.  And  it  went  away  with  me  and  my  germs  to  the 
Nursing  Home,  and  when  the  rash  had  come  out  I  began  reading 
it.    Then  I  got  awfully  bad  again  and  I  had  to  finish  it  after." 

"Here's  a  pretty  confession,  Alice-f or-short !  Well — I  never!" 
Charles's  face,  as  he  sits  puffing  at  his  pipe  and  gazing  at  the 
penitent,  is  full  of  love  and  admiration  for  her.  If  the  former 
is  crossed  by  a  half -thought  that  the  love  of  a  real  father,  brother, 
uncle — whatever  he  counts  himself — does  not  call  for  keeping 
under;  he  thrusts  it  aside,  fortified  by  the  confidence  that  she  has 
no  such  line  of  thought ;  and  if  it  is  so,  so  long  as  he  keeps  it  under, 
it  can't  matter  what  it  is.    Alice-for-short  is  to  be  beloved  of  a 


390  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

sanctioned  Romeo,  with  never  a  blood-feud  between  the  families — 
a  highly  endowed  Lovell  whose  old  oak  chests  don't  hasp.  Prob- 
ably what  would  be  reluctance  to  lose  Alice  takes  the  form  of  pre- 
posterous demands  on  the  powers  of  the  Creator  in  connection  with 
Mr.  Alice.  But  his  admiration  is  unqualified,  even  by  that  awful 
mark  just  round  the  comer,  where  they  kiss  you.  However,  let 
Alice  go  on  with  her  story. 

"I'm  not  much  ashamed,  Mr.  Charley  Heath ;  so  you  needn't  look 
so  reproachful.  I  finished  it  after,  when  I  was  getting  better.  And 
I  thought  it  was  because  I  was  so  weak  and  used-up  that  I  cried 
over  it  as  I  did." 

"Probably  it  was.  A  sufficiently  large  Public  of  convalescents 
from  Smallpox  would  be  a  boon  to  sentimental  publishers." 

"No — it  was  nothing  of  the  sort.     Sister  Thea  got  it  after 


"The  Smallpox?" 

"No !  The  manuscript.  And  she  cried  and  sniffed  all  one  night. 
And  then  the  Mother  Superior  got  it  and  cried  and  sniffed  too." 

"And  which  was  this  valuable  and  affecting  work  that  you  stole. 
Miss  Thief,  dear  ?    And  where  did  you  steal  it  ?" 

"Out  of  the  drawer  in  the  old  table.  If  I'd  known  there  were 
others,  I'd  have  turned  the  whole  place  out." 

"What  was  this  one?" 

"About  Cicely  Smith '' 

"Oh  yes,  I  remember  her.  She  lived  in  a  small  stuffy  semi- 
detached villa  on  some  land  that  was  ripe  for  building,  and  nobody 
built  any  more  villas ^" 

"Yes,  and  her  father  called  himself  an  Agent,  on  a  brass  plate, 
and  nobody  knew  what  he  was  Agent  for.  And  she  had  a  stuffy 
mother,  and  a  stuffy  aunt,  and  there  were  scarlet  geraniums  and 
dandelions  in  the  front  garden.  And, — oh,  my  gracious  me, — how 
stuffy  it  all  was !" 

"I  remember  Sis'ly  Smith.  She  wanted  to  marry  anybody  to 
get  away  from  home,  and  proposed  to  a  cabman.  She  proposed  by 
letter,  and  directed  to  his  number,  and  he  wasn't  driving  his  own 
cab,  and  the  wrong  cabman  wrote  that  he  was  a  married  man  or 
nothing  would  have  suited  him  better." 

"Oh,  indeed,  Mr.  Charley!  Then  there's  another  one  for  me  to 
read.    Hand  over  the  manuscript !" 

"Wasn't  that  Sis'ly  Smith?  Then  it  was  Sis'ly  Brown.  There 
were  three  of  them,  I  know,  all  Sis'ly.    Which  was  Sis'ly  Smith  ?" 

"How  funny  you  don't  remember!  Don't  you  remember  the 
young  man  who  used  to  go  every  morning  to  the  City  past  Cicely 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  891 

Smith's  house?  And  how  he  asked  if  the  umbrella  was  hers,  and 
then  after  that  they  said  good-moming  always?  And  how  she 
used  to  look  out  for  him  every  day,  and  one  day  he  didn't  come?" 

"Allow  me  to  remark.  Miss  Kavanagh,"  says  Charles,  speaking 
exactly  in  the  same  way  as  he  spoke  to  Alice  as  she  huggec  the 
fragments  of  her  broken  beer-jug  in  the  street,  years  ago,  "that  the 
British  novelist  would  have  an  easy  task  before  him  if  he  could 
command  a  public  ready  to  shed  tears  on  such  very  small  provoca- 
tion.   The  tale,  so  far,  strikes  me  as  neither  novel  nor  exciting." 

"You  old  stupid !  It  was  the  way  it  was  told.  It  quite  made  one 
smell  the  London  suburb — the  May  mixing  with  the  burnt  ballast — 
and  then  when  the  heap  was  burned  and  got  cold,  how  the  mallows 
burst  out  all  over  it.  And  the  inexplicable  steam-boiler  that  had 
got  left  in  the  fields  and  seemed  to  belong  to  nobody." 

But  Charles  shakes  a  slow  incredulous  head.  ^'There  is  nothing 
in  that  boiler  beyond  the  powers  of  the  humblest  aspirant  to 
literary  fame,"  he  says,  and  Alice  thereon  says  if  he  means  to  be 
aggravating,  she  shall  go.    So  he  draws  in  his  horns. 

"No — darling  child!  It's  only  my  nonsense!  I  remember  the 
story  quite  weU.  Sis'ly  heard  the  young  beggar  was  dead,  and 
cooked  up  a  romance  about  him.  And  the  stuffy  home  went  on,  and 
Sis'ly  got  older  and  older  and  older,  and  her  father  took  to  drink- 
ing and  had  a  stroke,  and  the  stuffiness  got  stuffier." 

"Of  course,  you  remember  all  about  it!  But  what  I  thought 
so  good  was  the  growth  of  the  ghastly  suburb,  and  then  the  end. 
Only  I  don't  think  you  should  have  made  the  old  man  tell  her  he 
^thought  he  recollected  coming  along  that  road  every  morning 
when  he  was  a  boy,  before  they  made  the  short-cut  to  the  station,' 
and  never  recognise  her." 

"What  would  you  have  had  me  do.  Mistress  Alice?  Marry  'em 
up?" 

"Certainly.    It  would  have  been  such  a  relief !" 

"And  him  sixty!" 

"How  often  am  I  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Charley,  that  Age  has  noth- 
ing— nothing  whatever! — to  do  with  it!" — Alice  is  quite  flushed 
and  excited,  because,  you  see,  it  is  this  rubbish  about  age  that  is 
standing  in  the  way  of  some  most  happy  arrangement  for  Charles. 
Her  eyes  are  this  much  more  open  than  his,  that  she  has  wondered 
whether,  if  he  married  again,  she  would  misbehave  herself  as  she 
did  on  the  eve  of  his  first  marriage.  She  acknowledges  the  wrench, 
but  is  blind  to  every  happiness  except  his.  What  would  she  have 
been,  but  for  him? 

Her  rooted  belief  in  the  terms  of  his  affection  for  her  is  two- 


892  ALICE-rOK-SHORT 

fold;  one  phase  of  it  assures  her  that  he  doesn't  love  her  'like 
that";  the  other  that  their  relation  (consequently)  need  not 
change  if  he  marries  fifty  wives — all  of  whom  Alice  would  love 
too  if  he  did. 

But  Alice  will  be  late  for  lunch,  and  the  trampling  of  Pope  & 
Chappell's  men  going  upstairs  says  one  o'clock.  So  she  cools  down 
and  says  she  must  run,  and  she  and  the  parcels,  which  have  awaited 
this  moment  with  confidence,  are  consigned  to  a  Hansom,  which 
promises  to  look  sharp,  and  nearly  runs  over  a  butcher's  boy,  who 
defies  it  with  yells. 

Charles  goes  away  to  lunch  at  Cremoncini's,  with  a  happy  glow 
at  heart,  which  will  have  to  last  him  till  seven  o'clock,  when  he  will 
have  Alice  again  in  Harley  Street.  He  builds  a  few  extra  per- 
fections into  Romeo,  or  Lovell,  without  the  dimmest  overt  idea  of 
any  self-defensive  motive  in  so  doing. 

Parenthetically,  we  may  ask  you  to  note  that  there  was  nothing 
in  the  foregoing  interview  to  fix  Alice's  attention  on  Verrinder's 
cormection  with  No.  40.  She  knew  of  it,  but  vaguely.  The  whole 
of  his  tragedy  could  be  dwelt  on  without  the  old  house  coming  into 
the  story  at  all.  You  will  see  later  whji;  we  call  your  attention  to 
this. 


CHAPTER  XXXVn 

HOW  Sm  RUPERT  GOT  HIS  WAY,  AND  PEGGY  AND  ALICE  WENT  TO  BEDLAM. 
WHERE  WERE  THE  PATIENTS?      A  USELESS  VIGIL 

In  spite  of  Dr.  Fludyer's  change  of  opinion,  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  delay  before  the  operation  was  decided  on.  All  the  officials 
of  the  Hospital  seemed  to  feel  confident  that  if  Old  Jane  was  care- 
fully fed  she  would  last  indefinitely.  After  sixty  years,  three 
months  counted  for  little.  It  was  February  before  the  final  deci- 
sion was  arrived  at  and  the  day  fixed. 

Then,  one  morning  suddenly.  Sir  Rupert  said  to  his  wife,  "The 
operation  on  Old  Jane  is  fixed  for  Thursday."  He  spoke  as  if  it 
was  quite  an  everyday  affair. 

"Oh,  Rupert,  darling!  How  anxious  you  will  be!"  But  he 
appeared  quite  unmoved. 

"Not  the  least!"  said  he.  "I've  given  my  opinion  for  what  it's 
worth,  and  they  think  it  worth  acting  on." 

"I  should  run  away  and  hide  my  eyes  and  hold  my  ears  till  it 
was  over,  if  I  were  you!" 

"No — you  wouldn't!  If  you  were  me  you  would  do  as  I  mean 
to  do.  I  shall  be  on  the  spot  the  whole  time.  I  shan't  be  of  any 
use,  but  Isaacson  says  he  would  like  me  to  be  there.  He's  twenty 
times  the  operator  I  am.  But  he  would  like  my  moral  support,  he 
says." 

"I'm  thankful  I'm  not  going  to  be  there." 

"I  want  you  to  come.    You  and  Alice." 

"Good  heavens,  Rupert !    What  next  ?"  Peggy  exclaims. 

And  then  the  voice  of  Alice  comes  through  the  door  from  the 
little  puff-room  where  she  is  scribbling :  "What's  that  about  me  ?" 

"Come  in  here  and  we'll  tell  you."  Both  say  this  together,  and 
Alice  rustles,  and  adjusts  papers,  and  shuts  an  inkpot,  and  comes. 
She  settles  on  a  sofa,  with  her  chin  on  her  hands,  as  we  have  seen 
her  before.  "Eire  away!"  she  says,  and  the  blue  eyes  stand  open 
to  receive  information.  Sir  Rupert  sits  down  beside  his  wife  oppo- 
site to  her. 

"Didn't  you  hear  what  Dr.  Jomson  said?" 

"No— I  didn't!" 

893 


394  ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 

"He  wants  me  and  you  to  go  to  Bedlam  and  see  that  poor  old 
woman  trepanned." 

«WeU?" 

"Well!  I  don't  think  I  can  stand  it." 

"No  more  could  I.  But  if  Dr.  Jomson  likes  me  to  go,  and  hreak 
down  and  have  hysterics,  I'm  game." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  see  anything  of  the  operation."  He  is 
grave  and  serious,  and  quite  in  earnest.  "What  I  want  is  to  have 
one  or  more  good  observers,  preferably  women,  at  hand  when  the 
revival  of  consciousness  comes,  if  it  comes.  My  own  impression 
is  that  it  will,  to  a  certain  extent.  Only  there  may  be  a  complete 
relapse  after,  and  I  want  everything  to  be  observed  and  recollected." 

"Why  won't  the  people — nurses — attendants — at  the  Asylimi  do  ? 
Why  us?"    It  is  Peggy  who  asks. 

"Because,"  answers  her  husband,  "they've  got  a  theory  apiece 
about  everything,  and  none  of  them  will  recollect  anything  that 
don't  agree  with  it.  I  want  raw,  live  human  creatures,  of  good 
average  intelligence." 

"Go  and  slap  your  wicked  papa,  Alcey  darling."  Big  Alice  is 
speaking  to  little  Alee,  who  was  present,  and  took  an  early  oppor- 
tunity of  climbing  up  her  when  she  sat  down. 

"Then  you'll  come,  you  and  Alice  ?" 

"No,  that's  not  fair !  We  never  promised."  Both  join  in  this 
statement,  more  or  less. 

"I  must  tell  you,  I  don't  the  least  anticipate  anything  like  a 
resurrection  from  the  grave.  It  would  be  almost  like  that  if  she 
showed  any  consecutive  intelligence.  But  what  I  want  to  have 
very  carefully  noted,  is  whether  she  throws  any  light  on  how  far  she 
has  been  conscious  in  all  this  enormous  period  of  apparent  mental 
torpor.  Is  absolute  suspension  of  the  mind  for  so  long  compatible 
with  maintenance  of  the  circulation  and  all  the  bodily  functions? 
If  it  was  so,  in  this  case,  a  good  many  scientific  conclusions  will 
have  to  be  reconsidered."  Sir  Rupert  pauses.  Perhaps  he  is  run- 
ning too  much  into  anticipation  of  the  lecture  on  the  subject  he 
will  certainly  give  at  some  future  time,  at  the  Hospital,  or  else- 
where. He  pulls  out  his  watch  and  looks  at  it.  "That  man's  late," 
he  says,  showing  that  his  present  moment  of  idleness  is  not  part 
of  a  programme,  though  a  recent  cup  of  tea  was.  But  there  comes 
a  knock  at  the  door.  "There  we  are,"  he  says.  And  Handsworth 
comes  in  and  says  he  has  shown  the  gentleman  into  Sir  Rupert's 
room.  "Very  good  then!  Three  o'clock  on  Thursday."  And  he 
hurries  away,  looking  back  to  say,  "Now  mind  you  neither  of  you 
make  any  other  engagement." 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  396 

"A  wilful  man  will  have  his  way,"  says  Peggy,  laughing,  to  Alice. 
And  Alice  replies:  "Never  mind!     He  really  wants  us;  so  let's 


go 


!» 


The  day  had  come  for  Alice  and  Peggy  to  visit  the  gloomy 
mystery.  Bedlam,  which  had  been  hitherto,  to  both  of  them,  only 
the  name  of  a  nightmare,  a  Dantesque  Hell  of  horrors,  that  went 
on  existing  somewhere,  but  that  no  one  had  ever  come  across.  To 
have  Bedlam  sprung  upon  them  as  an  actuality,  in  a  modern  time 
and  in  the  metropolitan  area,  was  an  experience  in  itself,  quite  apart 
from  what  it  was  going  to  be  when  they  got  there.  Peggy  looked 
forward  to  this  with  shrinking,  in  which  anticipated  pity  of  the 
unhappy  inmates  allowed  of  no  alleviation  from  curiosity.  Alice 
felt  the  same,  but  the  vital  activity  of  her  inquisitiveness  about 
the  unknown  palliated  it,  and  now  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind 
to  the  adventure  she  would  not  have  given  it  up  on  any  account. 

Her  imagination,  running  ahead  of  her  companion's,  suggested 
that  it  would  be  safe  to  forget  mediaeval  Bedlam,  and  prepare  the 
mind  for  something  not  much  worse  than  a  Workhouse,  To  this 
end,  the  mind  would  clearly  be  easier,  if  the  conversation  on  the 
way  down  took  the  form  of  a  general  resume  of  recorded  horrors. 
It  would  be  like  Garrick's  performance  of  Macbeth,  when  he  showed 
his  dread  of  Banquo's  ghost  by  going  nearer  to  it  with  outstretched 
protecting  hands  and  averted  head.  Besides,  so  much  stress  could 
be  laid  on  pastnesses,  and  the  general  advantages  of  being  Modem 
could  be  exhibited  by  force  of  contrast. 

"All  the  time  I  was  going  off  last  night,"  said  Alice,  in  Saint 
Martin's  Lane,  "that  song  Madge  Wildfire  sings  was  running  in 
my  head: — 

"In  the  bonny  cells  of  Bedlam 
When  I  was  ane-and-twenty 
I  had  hempen  bracelets  strong 
And  merry  whips  ding-dong 
'  And  prayer  and  fasting  plenty." 

And  Lady  Johnson  said  she  remembered  it  well  and  how  it  used 
to  make  her  shudder  when  she  was  a  girl.  "Oh,  Alice,  think  of  it !" 
she  said,  "one  and  twenty!" 

"It  is  unpleasant,"  said  Alice;  which  was  bravado.  She  con- 
tinued, piling  up  the  agony,  "They  used  to  be  put  to  sleep  on 
wooden  pallets  in  the  middle  of  big  rooms  with  the  floors  covered  all 
over  with  pin-points  sticking  up.  And  exhibited  to  the  public  as  a 
show,  and  spun  round  rapidly  on  chairs,  and  confined  without  food 


396  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

in  underground  dungeons.  And  they  were  really  sane,  as  often  as 
not.  How  nice  it  is  that  it's  now,  now!  And  that  it's  Charing 
Cross,  with  the  fountains  playing." 

It  was  Charing  Cross,  and  the  sun  had  just  come  out  after  a 
shower,  and  a  very  small  street  Arah  was  indulging  in  an  escapade 
in  the  fountains.  For  in  defiance  of  all  decency,  he  had  ilung  off 
his  things  and  gone  into  the  water,  and  was  deriding  the  civil 
authority.  Peggy  wanted  to  stop  and  adopt  him  on  the  spot — he 
was  so  tempting  in  his  well-knit  nudity — but  the  other  appoint- 
ment could  not  be  trifled  with.    They  had  to  go  on. 

Everything  they  passed  and  saw  insisted  on  being  looked  at 
and  weighed  in  its  relation  to  Old  Jane.  Even  the  juvenile  rebel, 
slapping  his  shining  tummy  contentedly  in  the  sunshine,  with  a 
subdivision  of  Police  threatening  him,  but  unable  to  act,  made 
them  contrast  his  splendid  liberty,  and  glorious  outlook  of  future 
defiance  of  authority,  with  her  cancelled  and  torpid  life.  The 
window  of  Whitehall  from  which  King  Charles  stepped  out  into  the 
sun,  and  thence  into  his  grave,  suggested  that  his  fate  was  an 
enviable  one  by  comparison.  The  Horseguards,  however  much  they 
were  making  believe  that  they  were  cut  off  from  sympathy  with 
human  life,  its  struggles  and  passions,  were  only  doing  so  officially, 
and  were  really  taking  notice  of  everything  and  meaning  to  con- 
verse intelligently  with  one  another  about  it  as  soon  as  they  were 
at  liberty  to  speak.  No  surgical  relief  to  the  brain  would  be 
necessary  there.  Even  when  Peggy  and  Alice  said  nothing  to 
one  another  about  impressions  of  this  sort,  they  felt  them,  one  or 
both.  And  both  probably  experienced,  without  defining,  a  feeling 
of  the  callousness  and  self-absorption  of  the  vast  crowd  in  its  con- 
stant ebb  and  flow,  and  contented  ignorance  of  old  Jane's  sixty 
years  of  silence  and  oblivion.  This  was  unreasonable;  for  were 
they  themselves  giving  her  a  thought,  six  months  ago  ? 

"I  must  say,"  said  Alice  to  Peggy,  as  they  turned  round  towards 
the  bridge,  "the  poor  old  woman's  was  a  much  nicer  sort  of  insan- 
ity than  that  other  one's  Dr.  Eludyer  told  us  of,  who  talked  inces- 
santly for  seven  years.  I  hope  to  goodness  we  shan't  see  a  case  of 
that  sort." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Peggy,  fervently.  She  was  feeling  very  un- 
easy about  possible  horrors.  Alice  wasn't  unfeeling,  but  in  her 
temperament  active  curiosity  outflanked  uneasiness.  She  there- 
fore talked  and  speculated  for  herself  and  her  companion. 

"What  a  good  thing  it  would  be  if  people  that  talk  too  much 
could  be  vaccinated  off  Old  Jane!  What  are  all  those  men  on  the 
terrace  there  over  the  river?    Members  of  Parliament,  are  they?" 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  397 

Alice  stopped  and  became  reflective.  We  have  no  means  of 
knowing  whether  her  thoughts  were  disrespectful  or  otherwise. 
They  must  have  lasted  over  the  bridge,  as  it  was  abreast  of  St. 
Thomas's  Hospital  that  she  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief,  and  said, 
"We're  not  going  to  hear  a  debate — ^that's  one  comfort!" 

Perhaps  you  who  read  this  have  been  a  prowler  about  London, 
like  ourself.  If  so,  you  will  know  the  huge  building  with  the 
portico  and  dome,  and  its  pleasant  open  grounds  all  round,  and  its 
beautiful  oval  lawn  in  front.  But,  if  a  languid  prowler — like 
ourself — content  to  look  at  many  things  and  wonder,  and  make 
no  enquiries,  you  may  have  sauntered  by  this  huge  building  and 
never  asked  its  name;  never  known  that,  as  an  institution,  it 
records  and  represents  three  hundred  years  at  least  of  the  most 
appalling  misery  that  can  fall  on  man.  You  may  have  passed  it 
over  and  dismissed  it;  as,  if  one  is  lazy  and  prowls,  one  is  apt 
to  do  with  large  buildings  that  look  as  if  they  had  boards  and  funds 
and  annual  reports.  No  doubt  they  are  all  right,  and  really  have  a 
purpose  if  one  could  only  find  it  out.  If  they  were  merely  Insti- 
tutions per  se,  without  qualifications,  we  must  surely  (if  we  think 
seriously)  wonder  that  any  one  should  have  been  at  the  trouble  and 
expense  of  constructing  them !  If,  however,  after  you  got  home  it 
came  to  your  knowledge  that  the  huge  building  was  Bethlehem 
Hospital,  and  that  Bethlehem  Hospital  was  actually  Bedlam — 
Bedlam  itself,  no  other! — ^you  must  then  have  felt  sorry  you  did 
not  know  it  at  the  time,  and  pay  a  little  more  attention. 

For  though  it  is  no  longer  in  Moorfields,  but  Saint  George's,  even 
as  when  in  Moorfields  it  was  no  longer  in  Bishopsgate,  it  is  stiU 
the  Hospital  of  St.  Mary  Bethlehem.  Even  as  the  Cases  that 
were  in  the  home  of  the  old  thirteenth-century  monastery,  whose 
property  had  been  "redistributed,"  were  shifted  through  the  air 
and  light  from  their  prison  to  the  new  one  of  Moorditch,  so  when 
the  latter  gave  up  its  mentally  dead,  this  was  the  new  tomb  to 
which  the  still  animated  bodies  were  transferred.  The  tradition 
of  horror  has  never  paused,  since  the  first  poor  creature,  supposed 
(groundedly  or  not)  to  be  possessed  by  an  evil  spirit,  was  taken 
charge  of  by  the  pious  fraternity  of  Saint  Mary,  and  judiciously 
impaled  on  spikes,  burned,  lashed,  or  put  in  cramping  irons,  as  a 
practical  step  towards  the  ejection  of  a  Devil  who  made  light  of 
Exorcism. 

And  if  Alice  and  Charles,  as  a  result  of  slight  and  unskilful 
investigation,  had  hit  upon  the  right  records  of  the  treatment  of 
this  last  exodus  of  woe,  it  was  little  better  than  that  of  the  Friars. 


398  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

If  the  merry  whips  ding-dong  had  been  hung  up  out  of  the  way,  the 
hempen  bracelets  strong  continued  in  evidence — and  did  so  till  a 
few  years  later.  But  it  is  all  long  ago  now,  for  except  as  an  expe- 
dient of  relatives— a  check  on  obnoxious  brothers  and  sisters, 
wives  or  husbands — probably  there  has  never  been  a  fetter  on  a 
lunatic  for  more  than  fifty  years  past.  Maybe  it  makes  less  differ- 
ence than  one  thinks!  But  it  is  pleasant  to  know,  pleasant  only 
to  believe,  that  nowadays  Madness  is  all  the  lunatic  has  to  suffer 
from,  and  that  he  has  not  to  endure  Medisevalism  into  the  bargain. 
Still,  insanity  is  what  it  is!  What  the  Latin  poet  called  it  two 
thousand  years  ago  it  remains  now — the  greatest  of  evils,  that 
knows  not  the  name  of  the  slave  that  boyhood  knew,  nor  the  face  of 
the  friend  who  calls  us,  in  vain,  by  our  own. 

"But  I  can't  hear  any  patients,"  said  Peggy  to  her  husband, 
when  he  met  them  under  the  great  porch,  with  Dr.  Fludyer.  He 
had  come  early  to  be  present  at  the  operation,  and  had  sent  the 
carriage  back  for  them.    "What  did  you  expect?"  said  he. 

"Why,  of  course.  Dr.  Jomson  dear!"  answered  Alice,  for 
her.  "Mother  Peg  expected  to  hear  the  patients  howl  and 
gibber." 

They  passed  up  two  flights  of  stairs  into  a  long  gallery-like 
ward — quite  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  long.  But  it  wasn't  like 
Peggy's  idea  of  Bedlam  at  all,  nor  Alice's.  It  was  furnished  from 
end  to  end  as  luxuriously  as  a  first-class  hotel.  There  were  pictures  , 
on  the  walls  and  flowers  on  the  tables.  A  lady  was  playing  a 
piano.  Others  sat  about  reading,  or  looking  at  picture  books,  or 
doing  needlework.    One  saw  nothing  wrong,  so  far. 

"But  we  shall  see  some  of  the  patients  ?"  said  Peggy.  The  nurse 
who  accompanied  them  answered: 

"These  are  all  patients.  This  is  a  patient."  She  laid  her  hand 
on  the  shoulder  of  a  girl  who  sat  close  by,  counting  her  fingers, 
"Oh,  no!  she  doesn't  know  I'm  speaking  about  her.  She  doesn't 
know  anything."  This  was  in  answer  to  a  half -expression  of  pro- 
test or  apology  from  Peggy.  Then  she  addressed  the  girl  herself 
by  name,  and  the  girl  replied,  "Directly  I"  But  she  went  on  count- 
ing her  fingers. 

"It  looks  so  reasonable  for  a  moment,"  said  the  nurse,  "but  she 
has  been  like  that  for  three  months.  She'll  become  chronic,  most 
likely.  But  she's  perfectly  safe  by  herself.  That  other  one  isn't." 
The  other  one  was  a  placid  respectable  lady,  who  looked  quite  fit 
to  be  left  in  charge  of  the  ward  single-handed.  Peggy  said  so,  and 
the  nurse  replied:  "Yes!    Responsible  sort  of  person,  to  look  at! 


ALICE-rOR-SHORT  399 

But  shea's  not  safe  with  a  knife.  It  came  quite  suddenly  though; 
it  may  go  away  as  quickly  as  it  came." 

"How  did  it  come?" 

"She  sent  a  leg  of  mutton  flying  at  her  husband's  head  one  day 
at  dinner.  Something  he  said  annoyed  her,  and  that  brought  it 
out.    This  is  the  ward." 

They  had  got  to  the  end  of  the  long  ward,  and  went  into  a 
passage  that  made  a  lobby  to  another.  Alice  would  so  much  have 
liked  to  know  why  the  girl  counted  her  fingers,  and  what  it  was  the 
husband  had  said  to  exasperate  his  wife.  Did  not  many  husbands 
deserve  to  have  legs  of  mutton  thrown  at  them  ?  Also  a  group  she 
had  noticed,  near  the  piano,  had  puzzled  her.  A  young  man  on  a 
sofa  with  his  face  in  his  hands,  seeming  to  be  either  in  pain,  or 
great  trouble.  Over  him,  with  pity  on  her  face,  stood  a  comely 
pleasant  girl.  Her  right  hand  was  on  his  shoulder;  her  left 
stroked  his  head.  "It's  her  husband,"  said  the  nurse.  But  then — 
this  was  a  Women's  Ward !  However,  there  was  no  time  for  ques- 
tioning— Alice  would  ask  after.  They  passed  on  into  a  small  ward, 
with  beds,  where  they  were  to  find  the  object  of  this  journey — the 
old  chronic  patient  of  a  lifetime. 

You  know,  perfectly  well,  how  when  the  image  of  anything  you 
anticipate  seeing  has  taken  up  space  in  your  mind,  you  expect 
the  thing,  when  it  comes,  to  fill  up  as  large  a  space  in  the  room  (or, 
for  that  matter,  the  district)  in  which  you  find  it.  Old  Jane  had 
filled  up  so  much  of  Alice's  and  Lady  Johnson's  minds,  that  they 
could  hardly  believe  that  little  white  still  thing  on  the  bed  was 
really  she.  What  they  saw  seemed  a  small  mask  with  white  hair 
on  a  pillow,  the  head  it  belonged  to  encased  in  a  covering  that  made 
it  more  Kke  the  sarcophagus  than  its  contents.  The  body  it  be- 
longed to  was  just  manifest,  no  more,  through  its  coverlid.  The 
likeness  to  a  graven  image  was  the  greater  that  it  hardly,  if  at  all, 
suggested  Death. 

The  operation  had  only  just  been  completed,  and  all  sign  of  it 
removed  except  the  head  bandages,  when  Alice  and  Peggy  came  into 
the  ward.  Mr.  Isaacson  the  surgeon  stood  by  the  bed,  his  eyes 
fixed  attentively  on  the  face.  His  intensely  Egyptian  features 
suggested  a  Pharaoh  standing  over  his  mummied  mother.  He  took 
no  notice  of  the  new  arrivals.  Sir  Rupert  went  to  him,  and  they 
stood  talking,  sotto-voce,  side  by  side.  Then  Isaacson  raised  his 
voice. 

"I  don't  believe  she'll  speak.  I  can't.  But  if  she  does,  it  will 
be  within  a  week;  either  speak  or  try  it  on.  I  must  be  off."  He 
dropped  his  voice  again  and  Alice  fancied  she  heard  him  say  he  had 


400  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

to  remove  a  kidney  at  three.  So  like  a  late  lunch,  thought  Alice? 
He  wished  Lady  Johnson  and  Miss  Kavanagh  good-morning,  but 
reluctantly,  as  if  he  scorned  to  be  ungenerous,  but  had  very  little 
heart  in  his  wishing.  However,  he  made  up  for  it  by  the  cordiality 
with  which  he  wished  them  a  whole  good-day  a  minute  later.  But 
then,  mind  you,  the  first  wish  was  that  of  a  detained,  the  second 
of  a  released  man. 

And  then  Alice  and  Peggy,  at  Sir  Rupert's  wish,  made  up  their 
minds  for  a  long  vigil.  It  was  two  o'clock,  and  they  were  not  to  be 
at  liberty  till  eight ;  not  even  then  if  Old  Jane  broke  out  in  speech. 
"But  it's  what  she  says  first  I  want,"  said  Rupert ;  "and  if  it  doesn't 
come  very  soon  it  won't  be  for  some  time.  Still,  it's  worth  the 
chance  of  her  speaking  for  you  to  be  here." 

So  he  departed  and  left  them  sitting  on.  They  could  chat  with 
the  nurse,  and  hear  about  Cases. 

"I  didn't  know  you  had  any  male  patients  on  this  side,"  said 
Alice. 

"We  haven't  any.     Why?" 

"Because  of  that  poor  fellow  we  saw,  whose  wife  had  come  to 
see  him." 

"She  hadn't  come  to  see  him.  He'd  come  to  see  her.  He's  all 
right !    She's  as  mad  as  a  March  hare." 

"Is  it  possible  ?    She  looked  so  absolutely  sane." 

"She  put  the  baby  in  the  fire,  to  purify  it  from  Sin.  Has  to  be 
watched  constantly,  or  she'd  kill  herself.  Because  she's  too  bad 
to  live!    Only  been  married  a  couple  of  years." 

"Was  sAe"— Alice  nodded  towards  the  bed — "always  quite  still 
and  silent,  like  this?" 

"Not  quite  like  this:  that  is,  she  has  never  spoken  since  she 
came  here.  Before  we  were  born.  But  she  has  always  moved 
slightly — enough  to  show  she  was  alive,  A  nurse  who  was  here 
before  her  husband  died,  told  me  that  once  she  was  thought  to  have 
moved  and  tried  to  speak.  They  sent  for  her  husband,  who  used 
to  live  near  here,  in  case  anything  changed.  But  it  turned  out  a 
mistake.    They  had  better  have  waited  till  they  were  sure." 

Poor  Verrinder!  Fancy  how  he  came  round  in  response  to  the 
summons!  Fancy  how  he  went  back!  So  thought  Alice  to  her- 
self. 

"She  told  me  too,"  continued  the  nurse,  whose  name  was  Gais- 
ford,  Alice  learned,  "that  after  that  he  got  so  sleepless  at  night 
that  he  took  to  chloral  or  chloroform.  It  had  to  do  with  his  death 
in  the  end." 

Lady  Johnson  was  very  silent,  and  seemed  oppressed.     Alice 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  401 

on  the  contrary  prosecuted  active  enquiry  on  all  subjects.  Was 
it  not  horribly  trying  work?  It  was — and  very  few  people  could 
bear  it  for  long.  "You  might  stand  it  for  six  weeks ;  her  ladyship 
wouldn't  hold  out  for  twenty-four  hours."  Peggy  felt  the  truth 
of  this.  How  came  Mrs.  Gaisford  to  be  able  to  bear  it?  She  sup- 
posed she  knew  what  it  was  to  be  worse  off.  How  long  had  she 
borne  it?  She  had  been  eighteen  years  in  the  institution — about 
sixteen  in  her  present  position.  Alice  thought  this  referred  to  her 
status  as  a  nurse,  and  asked  no  further  question  on  the  point. 
She  fancied  she  noticed  some  reserve,  and  changed  the  subject. 
"Would  Mrs.  Gaisford  show  her  all  over  the  institution  some  time? 
Oh  yes,  that  she  would,  padded  rooms,  swimming-bath,  billiard- 
rooms,  theatre,  and  ballroom — everything!  If  it  hadn't  been  that 
this  Case  must  be  seen  to,  we  could  have  gone  to  see  the  Magic 
Lantern  this  evening  under  the  Dome  in  the  Chapel  Room.  Dr. 
Livingstone  in  Central  Africa,  Mrs.  Gaisford  believed.  Alice 
thought  of  Madge  Wildfire's  song,  and  the  prayer  and  fasting 
plenty.  The  clash  between  the  perfect  modern  Hospital  and  the 
genuine  scrap  of  moyen-age  that  Alice  had  brought  from  Harley 
Street  might  be  described  as  historically  painful. 

As  Alice  and  Peggy  remained  watching  by  the  motionless  figure 
for  over  five  hours,  and  Alice  talked  almost  all  that  time  with  the 
nurse,  you  may  be  sure  she  heard  a  great  deal  about  Insanity  in  all 
its  phases.  But  we  cannot  write  it  all  down  here,  and  need  not, 
as  she  wrote  it  all  down  herself  afterwards.  If  you  recollect  her 
story  of  "Ann  Carlyon,"  you  will  see  how  she  made  use  of  the  girl 
who  counted  her  fingers.  Ann  (you  may  remember)  was  betrothed 
to  a  man  who  was  sentenced  to  ten  years'  penal  servitude  for 
forgery.  In  the  first  year  she  got  into  the  habit  of  counting  her  ten 
fingers  continually ;  in  the  second  she  counted  to  the  ninth,  and  so 
on.  If  spoken  to  she  always  counted  to  her  limit  before  answering. 
At  the  end  of  the  fifth  year  came  the  news  that  he  had  died  in 
prison.  After  that  she  never  ceased  counting  as  far  as  the  fifth 
finger,  and  became  a  hopeless  lunatic.  Peggy  said  she  had  a  great 
mind  never  to  speak  to  Aunty  Lissy  again  when  she  wrote  this: 
^Tou  wicked  A.  K.,"  said  she;  "how  ever  can  you  do  such  things, 
with  that  innocent  blue-eyed  look  all  over  your  face,  I  can't  think !" 
And  Alice  looked  ashamed,  and  answered:  "But  I  did  cry  over  it, 
Mother  Peggy  dear,  and  real  tears  too!"  And,  as  she  said  it,  the 
little  six-year-old  Alice,  "Alice  the  kid,"  came  back — oh,  so  strongly 
— to  her  questioner's  mind.  But  all  this  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  story. 

More  than  once  during  the  long  vigil  by  the  bedside  one  of  the 


402  ALICE-FOE-SHOETi 

three  watcliers  fancied  she  saw  a  movement  of  the  still  features. 
It  always  turned  out  to  be  a  mistake  due  to  nervousness.  At 
least,  if  movement  there  had  been,  it  was  not  confirmed  and 
repeated.  There  was  a  great  difference  between  the  susceptibility 
to  nervous  impressions  of  the  three ;  the  nurse  being  by  far  the  least 
impressionable,  while  Lady  Johnson  towards  the  end  of  the  time  was 
quite  upset  in  her  judgment  by  the  constant  strain  of  fixed  atten- 
tion. "I'm  sure  I  saw  the  lips  move  then,"  she  would  say  at  inter- 
vals. But  she  was  always  wrong.  Both  she  and  Alice  were  glad 
when  the  clock  gave  them  leave  to  go. 

And  when  Peggy  arrived  at  home,  and  went  to  her  own  room, 
tired  and  disconcerted,  she  felt  quite  sorry  for  her  husband,  and 
the  report  she  had  to  give.  "I'm  afraid  you'll  be  so  disgusted, 
darling,"  she  began.  But  Sir  Rupert,  who  was  in  his  dressing- 
room,  only  asked  if  they  had  brought  back  Fludyer  in  the  carriage 
with  them.  "I  told  him  to  come,"  he  said.  "Is  any  one  else  com- 
ing? No  one  else.  Then  I  shan't  dress,  it's  so  late — oh!  there's 
his  knock.    I  thought  he'd  come." 

"But  it  is  disgusting,  dear,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes!  The  old  lady  ought  to  have  looked  alive!  But — ^better 
luck  next  time  I" 


CHAPTER  XXXVin 

HOW  OLD  JANE  WAKED  FROM  YOUNG  JANE's  SLEEP.     HOW  ALICE  WENT 
BACK  TO  BEDLAM 

It  was  a  disappointment — ^there  could  be  no  doubt  of  it.  Alice 
and  Peggy  had,  without  admitting  it,  worked  themselves  up  into 
a  state  of  expectation  that  Old  Jiane  would  "come  to."  It  was  true 
that  Sir  Rupert  had  dwelt  on  his  belief  that  there  was  only  one 
chance  of  it  in  thousands;  that,  almost  to  a  certainty,  the  matter 
of  the  brain  was  compacted  past  all  reinstatement,  and  that  the 
recovery,  if  any,  would  be  slow  and  the  steps  imperceptible.  All 
that  he  had  committed  himself  to  was  that  there  would  be  some 
amount  of  recovery,  and  when  there  was  none  whatever  he  was 
disappointed.  Still,  he  bore  it  philosophically.  On  the  other  hand, 
Alice  and  Peggy,  whose  imagination  had  endowed  the  human  brain 
with  a  resiliency  surpassing  that  of  the  best  Para  rubber,  were 
inclined  to  resent  the  result  of  the  experiment,  and  to  consider  that 
they  had  been  cheated.  However,  in  response  to  Rupert's  caution, 
"not  to  be  too  previous,"  because  the  play  wasn't  played  out  yet, 
they  agreed  to  suspend  judgment. 

As  it  turned  out,  it  was  as  well  that  they  did  so.  For  a  fortnight 
after  the  operation  Old  Jane,  quite  suddenly,  spoke.  We  have  to 
rely  for  the  particulars  of  her  first  utterances  on  Mrs.  Gaisford, 
the  nurse  who  was  with  her  at  the  time,  and  on  Dr.  Fludyer,  who 
was  at  once  summoned.  Stated  briefly,  the  facts  appear  to  have 
been  as  follows: — 

Since  the  operation  the  only  noticeable  change  in  the  patient 
had  been  that  the  slight  appearance  of  a  distinction  between  a 
sleeping  and  a  waking  state  had  become  intensified,  so  that  it  was 
no  longer  a  matter  of  opinion  which  predominated.  On  this  occa- 
sion the  nurse's  attention  was  aroused  by  a  more  definite  aspect 
of  healthy  sleep  than  she  had  seen  hitherto.  It  may  have  been 
only  her  fancy  that  the  colour  of  the  face  had  changed,  but  she  had 
no  doubt  of  the  fact  that  the  lips  moved  once  or  twice  without  giv- 
ing any  sound,  in  a  way  that  seemed  to  suggest  an  effort  to  speak. 
She  at  once  sent  word  to  Dr.  Fludyer,  who  arrived  from  his  own 
residence  about  an  hour  later.  Her  impression  must  have  been 
strong  about  the  movement  of  the  lips,  as  it  was  well  past  midnight 

403 


404  ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 

and  there  was  a  heavy  downpour  of  rain.  It  was  not  an  occasion 
to  bring  even  a  doctor  out  of  his  bed  into  the  streets,  except  for 
cause  shown. 

On  his  arrival  he  found  that  nothing  further  had  occurred;  but 
he  noticed  the  change  in  the  appearance  of  the  patient,  and  re- 
marked to  the  nurse  that  had  he  known  nothing  of  the  case,  he 
should  have  supposed  her  to  be  in  a  healthy  sleep,  making  of  course 
due  allowance  for  her  age.  The  sleep  of  very  old  people  when  not 
stertorous  has  an  appearance  of  torpor,  often  enough.  He  remained 
watching  by  the  bedside  for  the  slightest  movement,  occasionally 
touching  the  patient's  pulse,  but  observed  no  change  of  any  sort. 
At  last,  despairing  of  anything,  and  hearing  a  slight  lull  in  the 
steady  torrents  of  rain  which  had  continued  for  more  than  two 
hours  without  intermission,  he  got  up  to  go. 

"Send  for  me  again,"  said  he  to  the  nurse,  "if  you  see  any  move- 
ment whatever,  or  think  you  do.  Never  mind  if  it  is  fancy.  I 
would  sooner  be  brought  here  fifty  times  by  mistake  than  miss  see- 
ing the  return  of  consciousness — if  ever  there  is  any.  Possibly 
you  were,  as  you  think  now,  mistaken  this  time.  But  never  mind ! 
Send  again."  And  the  nurse  promised  to  do  so,  though  evidently 
disconcerted  at  her  mistake. 

Dr.  Fludyer  put  on  the  overcoat  he  had  taken  off  on  coming  into 
the  ward,  and  his  hat.  He  took  one  more  look  at  the  almost  inani- 
mate white  figure  on  the  bed  before  him,  the  head  enclosed  in  a 
close-fitting  black  coif  that  protected  without  oppressing  the  seat  of 
the  operation.  He  touched  the  pulse  of  the  motionless  hand  on 
the  coverlid  once  more,  and  finding  no  fluctuation  of  the  slow  beat 
that  had  for  sixty  years  registered  the  vitality  of  a  living  tomb, 
turned  to  go,  leaving  the  nurse  to  her  dreary  vigil  in  the  silence, 
broken  only  by  the  sound  of  the  falling  rain,  and  now  and  then 
the  groan,  or,  almost  worse,  the  laugh  of  some  distant  patient.  As 
he  walked  out  into  the  corridor  a  door  slammed  and  the  echoes  rever- 
berated through  the  building.  The  sounds  of  a  discussion  or  alter- 
cation, that  was  part  of  the  door-slamming  incident,  mixed  in  with 
another  sound  that  had  caught  his  attention  and  made  him  stop. 
The  voice  of  a  woman,  not  the  nurse,  coming  from  the  ward  he 
had  just   left. 

Yes,  it  came  quite  distinctly  from  that  room,  and  was  not  the 
voice  of  the  nurse,  for  her  voice  followed  it  immediately — entirely 
different. 

"Oh — Dr.  Fludyer!  come — come  at  once!"  -And  as  he  returned, 
in  response  to  the  agitated  summons,  the  first  voice  came  again, 
with  the  startled  sound  that  was  in  it  before,  showing  a  growth 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  405 

towards  terror.  "What  is  it?"  and  again,  "What  is  it?"  And  the 
louder  accent  suggested  the  sort  of  utterance  of  one  who,  anxious 
to  warn  a  suspected  evil-doer,  betrays  his  own  apprehension  in  the 
attempt. 

Dr.  Fludyer  afterwards  told  Sir  Rupert  that  at  this  point  he  felt 
dumb-struck — could  not  find  a  word.  The  nurse  was  more  prompt ; 
perhaps  readier  in  the  class  of  fiction  with  which  patients  are 
soothed  and  silenced. 

"The  doctor  says  you  are  not  to  move,  Mrs.  Verrinder,  but  to  lie 
quite  still  till  he  comes." 

The  figure  that  had  half-moved,  and  still  seemed  to  struggle 
to  move,  fell  back  passively.  Then  the  voice  came  again,  only  with 
less  of  strain  and  tension. 

"But  you  will  tell  me  what  it  is?    What  is  it?" 

The  nurse  replied  with  what  struck  Dr.  Fludyer  as  a  good  deal 
of  readiness  and  tact,  "I  am  only  just  come.  The  doctor  will  be 
here  soon."  The  patient  appeared  to  attach  full  meaning  to  these 
words. 

"Will  you,"  she  said,  still  with  bewilderment  and  apprehension  in 
her  tone,  "be  so  kind  as  to  ring  the  bell,  or  call  the  girl.  Call 
'Elizabeth'  over  the  stairs,  and  she  will  come."  And  then,  as 
though  she  mistrusted  the  carrying  out  of  these  instructions,  she 
began  to  call  herself,  "Elizabeth!  Elizabeth!"  No  response  fol- 
lowing, she  went  on,  "The  girl  must  have  gone  out."  And  then 
suddenly,  "Where  is  Mr.  Verrinder?" 

The  nurse  replied  as  before,  "I  have  only  just  come.  Ma'am,"  and 
then  looked  enquiringly  at  Dr.  Fludyer.  He  understood  her,  and 
nodded;  she  continued,  "The  doctor  has  just  come — but  he  begs 
you  will  lie  still  and  not  try  to  talk." 

"That  is  quite  right,  Mrs.  Verrinder,"  said  he;  "you  lie  quite 
still  and  try  not  to  talk."  This  slightly  varied  way  of  putting  it 
seemed  to  have  its  effect,  for  the  patient  appeared  to  acquiesce. 
Dr.  Fludyer  said  afterwards  to  Sir  Rupert  that  from  this  moment 
he  made  up  his  mind  to  behave  exactly  as  he  should  have  done  had 
the  suspension  of  consciousness  been  sixty  hours  instead  of  sixty 
years.  He  found,  he  said,  that  by  adhering  blindly  to  this  rule, 
diflSculties  that  seemed  insuperable  vanished. 

He  sat  down  by  the  bedside,  and  put  his  finger  on  the  pulse. 
"That  is  right,"  he  repeated,  "lie  quite  quiet  and  we  shall  do 
nicely."  Then  anticipating  that  her  next  speech  would  be  a  repe- 
tition of  her  last,  he  thought  it  safest  to  forestall  it.  He  had  made 
up  his  mind  that  some  falsehood  would  be  inevitable,  and  felt  it 
would  be  safest  to  be  beforehand. 


406  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

"Mr.  Verrinder  has  been  obliged  to  go  away,"  he  said.  "We 
have  not  heard  from  him."  And  then,  conscious  that  it  was  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  touch  some  new  point,  little  matter  what,  that 
would  arrest  the  current  of  enquiry,  he  added,  "I  am  Dr.  Fludyer." 
He  could  not  at  the  time  analyse  his  reasons  for  believing  this 
would  answer  the  purpose,  but  it  seemed  to  do  so.  Maybe  it  carried 
a  suggestion  that  more  would  come  without  being  asked  for ;  and  he 
thought  it  safest,  having  procured  a  pause,  to  follow  on  in  it  at 
once,  and  choose  his  own  line  of  explanation. 

'Tou  have  had  a  most  dangerous  illness,  Mrs.  Verrinder,  and 
have  been  for  a  long  time  unconscious.  You  are  not  in  your 
own  home,  but  in  a  Hospital.  You  were  moved  here  at  your 
husband's  wish,  as  he  knew  you  would  be  far  better  nursed 
here  than  would  have  been  possible  at  home." 

"And  is  he  gone  away,  leaving  me  here  ?"  The  old  lips,  that  did 
not  know  how  old  they  were,  twitched  and  worked  about;  and  the 
old  eyes,  that  probably  saw  little  and  thought  the  cause  was  dark- 
ness, went  nearer  to  turning  round  and  looking  at  the  doctor  than 
they  had  done  yet. 

"He  was  obliged  to  go.    He  had  no  choice." 

"What  could  oblige  him  to  go  ?  He  had  told  me  nothing."  The 
doctor  felt  he  was  at  dangerously  close  quarters  with  his  difficulty, 
and  he  must  retreat. 

"You  must  remember,  Mrs.  Verrinder,  that  I  have  only  very 
lately  taken  charge  of  you,  and  I  cannot  give  you  all  the  informa- 
tion I  should  like  to  give.  The  nurse  also  is  new,  and  knows  even 
less  than  I  do.  It  is  now  three  in  the  morning,  and  she  sent  for 
me  quite  suddenly  a  couple  of  hours  since,  having  seen  signs  of 
consciousness  returning." 

"Oh  dear !  I  am  so  sorry.  I  could  have  waited.  I  fear  you  had 
to  get  up  to  come  to  me." 

"That,"  said  Fludyer  afterwards  to  Sir  Rupert,  "was  the  worst 
of  all.  There  was  an  awful  unearthly  feel  about  it  that  her  civil 
speech  was  really  an  apology  made  in  the  beginning  of  the  century. 
It  felt  as  though  it  were  not  the  old  woman  who  had  come  back 
like  a  ghost  into  the  present  time,  but  that  I  was  being  dragged 
back  into  the  past.  The  colloquial,  everyday  character  of  her 
speech  was  so  intense."  But  he  persevered  in  the  course  he  had 
laid  down  for  himself,  and  glued  his  mind  to  the  fiction  of  the 
three  days'  torpor. 

"We  doctors  get  used  to  this  sort  of  thing,  Mrs.  Verrinder,"  he 
said,  cheerfully.  And  the  recumbent  figure  replied,  in  the  same 
voice  of  appreciative  civility,  "You  are  very  good." 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  407 

"I  think  it  right  to  tell  you,  Mrs.  Verrinder,"  he  continued, 
"that  your  accident  made  an  operation  necessary" — he  hesitated 
a  moment. 

"I  cannot  understand,"  she  said ;  "have  I  had  an  accident  ? — oh,  if 
I  could  only  understand !"  The  distress  in  her  voice  was  intensely 
painful  to  her  hearers,  accustomed  as  both  were  to  every  incident 
of  mental  disease.    Dr.  Fludyer  thought  he  saw  his  way  clearer. 

"Is  it  possible,  Mrs.  Verrinder,"  said  he,  speaking  with  studious 
gentleness,  "that  you  do  not  remember  your  fall — on  the  stairs?" 
She  seemed  to  think  a  minute.  "Yes,  I  do  remember  that  I  fell 
on  the  stairs,"  said  she,  "but  that  was  just  now."  The  doctor 
saw  his  way  clearer  still. 

"No,  dear  Mrs.  Verrinder.  That  is  where  your  mistake  is.  It 
was  not  just  now,  but  some  time  since.  I  will  not  tell  you  how  long. 
You  have  been  insensible  for  a  long  time."  He  paused,  but  the 
puzzled  look  on  the  old  face  seemed  not  to  intend  speech — only  to 
wait  to  hear  more.    He  went  on: 

"Your  fall  on  the  stairs  resulted  in  concussion  of  the  brain,  and 
as  a  consequence  you  fell  into  a  state  of  insensibility.  A  recent 
operation  has  relieved  the  depression  of  the  skull  which  caused 
this  insensibility,  but  has  left  behind  it  the  pain  you  are  now  feel- 
ing in  the  back  of  the  head.  You  have  not  spoken  of  it,  but  I  know 
it  is  there."  The  patient  murmured,  "Oh  yes — great  pain,"  but 
spoke  more  drowsily  than  before.  Evidently  the  exertion  of  her 
recent  speech  was  telling. 

"Until  that  pain  subsides,  Mrs.  Verrinder,  I  wish  you — I  most 
earnestly  beg  of  you — to  be  patient  and  not  try  to  talk."  He 
stopped  again,  for  the  nurse  had  conveyed  to  him  by  a  sign  that 
she  thought  no  more  need  be  said  then.  "She'll  be  quiet  awhile 
now,"  she  said. 

What  had  struck  the  doctor  as  strangest  in  all  this  was  the  way 
in  which  the  speech  and  manner  of  the  patient  had  lent  itself  to 
the  fiction  that  she  had  only  been  two  or  three  days  insensible. 
If  he  could  have  felt  certain  of  a  result  he  was  inclined  to  antici- 
pate— namely,  reaction  and  collapse — ^he  would  have  assured  her 
that  this  was  no  fiction  at  all.  But  he  was  handicapped  by  the 
thought  of  explanations  to  come.  He  was  fortified  by  scientific 
certainty  of  her  extinction  in  case  of  death,  and  no  unsettling  new 
scientific  certainties  happened  to  have  been  recently  demonstrated; 
80,  to  put  it  briefly,  if  she  died,  fibs  wouldn't  matter.  If  you  hap- 
pen to  belong  to  any  of  the  many  schools  of  philosophy  that  con- 
demn his  view,  as  well  as  each  other,  be  good  enough  to  recollect 
that  he  had  no  thought  but  for  the  patient. 


408  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

After  waiting  the  best  part  of  an  hour,  both  nurse  and  doctor 
became  convinced  that  the  excitement  and  exertion  of  speech  had 
produced  their  natural  effect,  and  that  poor  old  Jane  had  collapsed 
into  a  deep  sleep,  or  its  equivalent  in  her  condition.  They  were 
mistaken;  for  as  the  doctor  was  departing,  he  was  a  second  time 
recalled  by  a  voice  from  the  bed.  Its  self-command  was  extraordi- 
nary: taken  apart  from  the  abnormal  state  of  the  speaker.  It  was 
perfectly  normal  in  itself. 

"Is  the  gentleman  gone — that  was  here  just  now  ?" 

"No,  Ma'am !    Dr.  Fludyer  is  here." 

"Dr.  riudyer.  I  did  not  catch  your  name  before.  I  have 
something.  Sir,  I  wish  to  ask  you.  But  I  speak  with  difficulty. 
Something  catches.  And  I  have  no  feeling  except  the  head-pain. 
Will  it  go?" 

"Oh  yes!  We  must  have  patience,  and  lie  quiet.  Do  you  feel 
my  hand  on  yours?  Now!" — He  raised  and  replaced  his  hand 
on  the  inanimate  one  on  the  coverlid,  once  or  twice. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do.  But  my  head  prevents  my  feeling  anything 
else.  Is  this  good  woman  touching  my  other  hand?"  The  nurse 
had  done  so.  She  drew  her  hand  down  the  body  and  legs.  "Did 
you  feel  that?"  said  she. 

"Oh  yes!  I  felt  you  touch  my  chest."  The  doctor  and  nurse 
glanced  at  each  other. 

"We  must  not  talk  too  much,"  said  he.  "There  was  something 
you  said  you  wished  to  ask  me,  Mrs.  Verrinder." 

"Yes.  My  baby  was  to  come  in  September.  Will  this — will 
this ?" 

The  doctor  beckoned  the  nurse  away  from  the  bed,  and  they  spoke 
together  in  a  whisper.  They  had  taken  for  granted  that  the  patient 
■would  not  be  conscious  of  their  doing  so.    It  was  a  mistake. 

"Is  it  something  I  am  not  to  hear?"  The  terrified  inflection  of 
the  voice  was  painful  beyond  expression. 

"You  shall  hear  directly,  Mrs.  Verrinder."  The  doctor  said  this, 
and  again  spoke  to  the  nurse,  under  his  breath,  but  emphatically. 
She  shrugged  her  shoulders  very  slightly,  and  raised  her  eyebrows, 
as  in  protest,  and  then  went  again  to  the  patient.  When  she  spoke, 
her  effort  in  doing  so  was  audible  in  her  voice. 

"Dr.  Fludyer  wishes  me  to  tell  you,  Mrs.  Verrinder,  your  baby 
was  born,  and  did  not  live."  She  could  get  no  further.  Yet  she 
was  manifestly  not  a  soft  character — no  mere  dweller  on  the  senti- 
mental side  of  the  terrible  dramas  she  saw  daily.  She  was  a  thor- 
ough madhouse  nurse,  chosen  as  specially  worthy  of  reliance.  But 
this  case  staggered  her. 


ALICE-FOK-SHORX  40» 

''What  she  tells  you  is  true,"  said  Dr.  Fludyer,  firmly,  but  quietly. 
"Your  baby — a  little  girl — was  bom  prematurely  in  consequence  of 
the  accident.    It  could  not  have  been  reared,  in  any  case." 

'When  we  told  her  of  the  death  of  the  child,"  said  Fludyer  when 
he  afterwards  described  this  scene  to  Sir  Kupert,  "she  was  quite 
silent  and  motionless  for  more  than  a  minute.  Then  she  gave  a 
cry — if  one  can  call  it  a  cry — such  as  I  hope  I  may  never  hear 
again.  It  affected  Gaisford  as  much  as  it  did  me — and  I  can 
assure  you  Gaisford  is  not  one  to  be  easily  upset." 

"Did  she  say  anything  articulate  after  that?"  asked  Rupert. 
Fludyer  shook  his  head. 

"Hardly  a  word !"  he  replied.    "She  began  saying,  *0h,  what  will 

my '  or  *What  will  he '  and  got  no  further.    After  that  she 

became  almost  silent,  and  has  remained  so,  except  for  short  be- 
ginnings, such  as  *I  must  get '  or  *Will  you  send V     She 

seems  to  be  weaker  than  at  first,  and  to  half -capture  thoughts  and 
let  them  slip." 

"Get  some  food,  Fludyer ;  you  must  want  it.  And  afterwards  we 
can  talk  of  what's  to  be  done  next."  For  this  was  in  Harley  Street, 
whither  Dr.  Fludyer  had  gone  as  soon  as  the  hour  was  plausible. 
He  need  not  have  been  so  scrupulous,  for  the  great  physician  was  at 
the  end  of  a  very  early  breakfast  when  he  was  shown  in.  "Jane 
has  spoken !"  said  he.  And  then  he  used  the  last  energies  a  weari- 
some night  had  left  in  him  to  give  a  conscientiously  detailed 
account  of  the  amazing  revival. 

"I  suppose  there  never  was  another  case  like  it,"  said  Rupert. 
"See  that  Dr.  Fludyer  gets  plenty  to  eat,  Handsworth.  You'll 
excuse  me,  Fludyer,  I  must  run  up  and  tell  Lady  Johnson  this." 
For  the  hallucination  we  chronicled  long  ago  of  a  young  House- 
Physician,  of  a  strange  wireless  current  between  himself  and  that 
handsome  eldest  daughter  of  old  Heath  in  Hyde  Park  Gardens,  was 
still  as  active  as  ever.  And  for  all  that  he  was  so  great  and  distin- 
guished, he  was  just  as  conscious  now,  wherever  he  was,  of  the  locus 
of  Harley  Street  and  Lady  Johnson  in  it,  as  ever  he  was  of  "the  Gar- 
dens" and  their  relation  to  Miss  Margaret  Heath.  Only  he  had  got 
used  to  it,  you  see!  In  the  present  case  Dr.  Fludyer's  tale  was 
firstly  to  be  passed  on  to  Peggy,  and  secondly  to  excite  its  full  inter- 
est as  soon  as  she  was  qualified  to  share  it.  It  was  rather  a  tit-bit 
to  him,  but  he  wasn't  going  to  turn  it  over  in  his  mouth  until  she 
was  helped.  There  was  a  gleam  of  satisfaction  on  his  face  as  he 
half-opened  the  bedroom  door.    He  went  straight  to  the  point 

"She's  spoken!    May  I  come  ial" 


410  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

"Yes,  come  in!  Who's  spoken?  Oh  dear,  I  had  fallen  asleep 
again." 

"Old  Jane,  of  course.    But  it's  only  just  eight." 

"You  don't  mean  it  ?    How  did  you  hear  ?" 

"Fludyer  has  come.  Spoke  at  three  o'clock  this  morning.  Seems 
coherent  too."  Sir  Rupert  made  no  concealment  of  his  trium- 
phant feeling.    He  had  scored. 

"I'll  get  up  at  once.  Pull  that  bell  hard,  and  then  run  away 
and  don't  hinder,  that's  a  ducky !  That's  right !"  And  Sir  Rupert, 
anxious  not  to  hinder,  is  retreating  downstairs,  when  the  door  he 
has  just  closed  is  opened  to  tell  him  to  mind  and  not  let  Dr. 
Fludyer  go  till  the  speaker  comes. 

(We  could  have  put  this  little  conversation  into  much  more 
logical  order.  But  the  fact  is,  that's  the  way  people  talk,  and  it 
can't  be  helped.) 

Sir  Rupert  could  not  have  been  more  than  four  minutes  on  the 
stairs — because  he  only  had  a  short  interview  with  Lucy  about 
what  sort  of  literature  young  ladies-of-fourteen's  governesses  have 
a  right  to  say  they  are  not  to  read;  and  as  for  Phillips  and  Alee 
he  brought  them  down,  one  over  each  shoulder.  Nevertheless  he 
found  when  he  got  back  to  the  breakfast-room  that  Aunt  Lissy 
was  interviewing  Dr.  Fludyer,  and  knew  all  about  it. 

"I'm  going  straight  away  to  see  her,"  she  said.  And  she  had 
clearly  made  up  her  mind.  We  believe  we  have  made  it  understood 
that  when  Alice  decided  on  a  course  of  action,  opposition  was  use- 
less. Besides,  Dr.  Fludyer  was  only  too  glad  that  she  should  do 
as  she  wished. 

"It  will  be  very  kind  of  you  to  come,"  he  said.  "I  have  no  fault 
to  find  with  Gaisford,  nor  the  others.  But  their  employment  gives 
them  a  certain  tone — they  can't  help  it.  This  poor  old — curiosity — 
is,  remember,  not  insane  now  in  any  sense.  And  probably  no  human 
creature  ever  needed  consolation  and  sympathy  from  a  fellow- 
woman  more." 

"Mamma  will  want  to  go  too,"  remarked  Sir  Rupert,  using  this 
epithet  in  acknowledgment  of  the  two  little  people  he  was  unload- 
ing from  his  shoulders.    "At  least  I  suppose  so." 

"I'm  not  sure  mamma  had  better  come."  Thus  Alice,  thought- 
fully.   "Won't  there  be  rather  too  much  of  us,  doctor  ?" 

"I  would  just  as  soon  she  didn't  go,"  said  Sir  Rupert.  "She 
does  take  these  things  to  heart  so  terribly.  Not  that  you're  an 
unfeeling  beast.  Aunt  Lissy.    But  you  have  a  sort  of  buoyancy." 

"Listen  to  papa  trying  to  get  out  of  his  difficulties,  Lucy." 

"Why  mustn't  I  go  ?"  says  Miss  Lucy.    And  papa  observes  in  an 


ALICE-FOR-SHOKT  411 

undertone  to  Dr.  Fludyer  that  he"  has  brought  an  old  house  about 
his  ears.  Lucy,  however,  is  reduced  ad  absurdum  by  a  claim  from 
Alee  that  she  shall  do  too. 

When  Peggy  came  down  ten  minutes  later,  she  found  the  matter 
settled  by  council,  and  enforced  by  circumstance.  For  Alice  had 
hurried  through  her  own  breakfast  in  order  to  depart  at  once  with 
Dr.  Fludyer  in  his  responsible  brougham,  which  had  been  waiting 
all  this  while.  Appealed  to  as  Mother  Peg,  darling,  to  be  reason- 
able, she  surrendered  her  wish  to  come  too,  especially  as  time  was 
passing,  and  she  couldn't  get  her  breakfast  and  see  Snaith,  the 
housekeeper,  in  less  than  half-an-hour.  So  Alice  went  off  with  Dr. 
Fludyer.  "Just  like  an  elopement,"  said  she  as  she  took  her  seat  in 
the  carriage.  "Sorry  about  Mrs.  Fludyer,"  said  the  doctor. 
"Also  you're  sixty  if  you're  a  minute!"  said  Alice,  the  rude,  un- 
ladylike girl ! 

"And  what's  so  intensely  shocking  to  me,"  she  went  on,  her  laugh 
dying  abruptly,  "is  that  the  poor  old  curiosity  we  are  going  to  is 
my  age  only ;  so  far  as  the  living  of  life  goes !" 

"And  mine  into  the  bargain,"  said  the  doctor,  "as  far  as  the 
passage  of  time  goes.  And  I'm  afraid  it  goes  furthest  in  the  long 
run!" 

The  carriage  went  responsibly  along  the  proper  side  of  the  way, 
with  two  silent  people  in  it,  thinking. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

HOW   ALICE   STAYED  m  BEDLAM,   AND  HAD  TO  BE   CYNTHU  LUTTRELL. 
HOW   MRS.    GAISFORD   WAS   A   MENTAL  CASE 

"Has  she  said  any  more?"  said  the  doctor  to  the  nurse,  as  she 
met  them  just  outside  the  door  of  the  ward. 

"Only  once.  She  roused  up  and  said  again  could  we  not  send 
to  Miss — something  like  'letter  L' — I  could  not  catch  the  name. 
She  said  she  was  very  old,  but  she  was  sure  she  would  come." 

"What  did  you  say  to  her?" 

"Oh — I  said  we  would  send,  and  she  went  off  into  a  doze  again. 
She  hasn't  spoken  or  moved  since." 

"You're  a  rash  woman,  Mrs.  Gaisford." 

"Oh  no — nothing  easier  than  to  say  she  was  out  of  town — ^had  a 
«old — anything !" 

"You  see  I  have  brought  Miss  Kavanagh  back  with  me.  She 
will  remain  with  you  in  the  ward.  I  will  just  look  at  the  patient 
and  then  see  Dr.  Paisley."  Alice  and  Mrs.  Gaisford  exchanged 
good-mornings,  and  they  went  into  the  ward. 

"Is  it  possible  she  has  really  spoken?"  said  Alice,  as  she  looked 
at  the  white  motionless  figure  on  the  bed.  She  had  asked  the  ques- 
tion under  her  breath ;  she  did  not  imagine  it  could  have  been  over- 
heard. To  her  surprise  the  patient  moved,  and  said  quite  dis- 
tinctly, but  weakly:  "Who  is  it  that  has  come  in?"  Dr.  Pludyer 
replied : 

"Only  Miss  Kavanagh.  She  has  come  to  sit  with  you  till  I  come 
back,  Mrs.  Verrinder."  He  felt  that  the  policy  of  taking  things 
for  granted  was  safe,  and  spoke  as  though  the  patient  would  of 
course  know  who  Miss  Kavanagh  was.  His  instinct  was  right. 
She  accepted  Miss  Kavanagh  without  question,  no  doubt  on  the 
strength  of  the  confidence  in  his  voice.  After  one  or  two  efforts 
towards  speech,  she  got  at  her  words  again.  "Can  you  find  a 
chair?"  she  said.  Her  total  unconsciousness  of  her  own  history, 
of  the  long  lapse  of  cancelled  life,  could  not  have  been  driven  home 
to  her  hearers  better  than  by  this  slight  speech.  All  the  continuity 
of  her  old  experience  was  in  it.  It  was  what  she  would  have  said 
to  a  visitor  had  she  been  convalescent  in  her  own  bedroom,  at  home, 
sixty  years  ago ! 

418 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  413 

"I'll  sit  here,  please,  Mrs.  Verrinder,"  said  Alice.  Her  voice 
in  the  still  place,  with  its  centuries  of  woeful  memories,  was  like 
spring  violets  in  a  coal-shaft.  She  sat  down  so  that  the  patient 
should  see  her  as  much  as  possible.  It  showed  (so  the  nurse 
thought  to  herself)  how  rapidly  her  faculties  were  beginning  to 
assert  themselves,  that  she  said,  as  Alice  took  her  seat,  'Tes — I  can 
see  you  now." 

"Is  there  nothing  you  would  like,  Mrs.  Verrinder?"  said  Alice. 
She  settled  at  once  that  it  would  be  best  to  be  easy,  trivial,  collo- 
quial— anything  rather  than  betray  her  own  appalled  feeling. 
"Can't  I  tell  them  to  get  you  anything  ?" 

"She's  to  have  her  beef -tea,"  said  Gaisford  the  nurse.  And  then 
Alice  felt  the  truth  of  what  Dr.  Fludyer  had  said.  The  incidents 
and  surroundings  of  madhouse  nursing  made  it  impossible  for 
this  woman  (good  in  herself,  no  doubt)  to  adopt  the  role  this  case 
called  for.  Deference  was  lacking,  and  could  not  be  assumed  at  a 
short  notice. 

"Would  you  like  that,  Mrs.  Verrinder?"  said  Alice.  But  the  old 
figure  shook  its  head,  and  spoke. 

"I  should  like  a  cup  of  tea.  Only  tell  Elizabeth  one  slice  of 
bread-and-butter,  not  more.  Is  the  girl  come  back?"  Then  her 
recollection  cleared,  and  she  knew  it  was  no  longer  her  own  home. 
She  began,  "Oh  dear — oh  dear — oh  dear !"  a  panic-stricken  sobbing 
utterance  most  painful  to  hear,  "why  will  they  not  tell  me  ?  I  know 
it  is  something!"  Alice  was  just  making  up  her  mind  that  it 
would  be  quite  impossible  to  keep  the  truth  from  her  much  longer, 
and  that  she  might  just  as  well  be  told  at  once,  when  the  perturba- 
tion began  to  subside  spontaneously,  and  before  long  she  had  fallen 
back  into  seeming  unconsciousness.  Then  Alice  spoke  with  the 
nurse  about  the  difficulties  of  the  case. 

"If  we  did  tell  her  the  truth,"  said  the  latter,  "do  you  suppose  she 
would  believe  it?"  True  enough!  She  wouldn't.  "But  how  long 
do  you  mean  to  wait  before  telling  her?"  asked  Alice.  Postpone- 
ment and  evasion  were  all  Mrs.  Gaisford  could  suggest. 

"If  you  can  get  time  for  the  head  to  heal  up,  and  get  her  taking 
regular  nourishment — why,  then  the  poor  soul  will  have  to  be  told. 
Only  I'm  afraid  she's  going  to  get  too  sharp  for  us.  You  see  she's 
nothing  the  matter  with  her  really.  It's  only  the  head.  And,  to 
me,  it  looks  like  coming  round." 

"Do  you  really  mean  she'll  come  round  altogether  ?" 

"If  she  comes  round  at  all,  why  shouldn't  she  come  round  alto- 
jether?"     This  seemed  sense;  and  at  this  moment  Dr.  Fludyer 

Bjoined  them,  bringing  Dr.  Paisley  and  also  Sir  Rupert  Johnson, 


414  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

who  had  followed  as  soon  as  he  was  able.  He  had  been  obliged  to 
answer  a  letter  before  leaving  the  house. 

"Now  let's  have  a  look  at  the  old  lady,"  said  he.  And  then  all 
five  went  on  into  the  ward  from  the  anteroom  where  Alice  and 
Mrs.  Gaisford  had  been  talking. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  follow  the  conversation  of  the  doctors  at 
the  bedside.  We  can  only  touch  on  points  that  concern  this  story, 
and  the  old  Mrs.  Verrinder's  relations  with  Alice.  The  medical 
details  would  have  great  interest  for  scientific  readers,  as  the  case 
was  certainly  what  Sir  Rupert  called  it,  one  of  perfectly  phenom- 
enal vitality.  But  these  are  already  in  print.  We  may,  however, 
take  advantage  of  the  words  of  eye-witnesses.  The  following  is 
quoted  from  Dr.  Fludyer's  account  of  the  case: 

"One  very  noticeable  point  in  connection  with  this  curious  case 
was  that  while  the  patient  was  able  to  recollect  clearly  the  inter- 
view that  had  taken  place  immediately  before  her  accident,  her 
memory  was  (and  has  since  continued)  clouded  and  indistinct 
about  events  that  occurred  before  this  interview.  This  went  the 
length  of  confusing  the  identity  of  Miss  A.  K.  (the  lady  I  have 
mentioned  as  present  at  the  time  of  her  first  recovery)  with  that  of 
a  friend  of  her  own  previous  to  her  marriage.  Even  now  that 
she  has  come  to  the  full  knowledge  of  her  extraordinary  history, 
and  can  speak  calmly  and  with  clearness  of  her  husband's  death, 
she  cannot  rid  herself  of  this  confusion,  and  constantly  goes  back  to 
it,  and  has  to  be  recalled  to  a  knowledge  of  the  actual  facts.  It 
was,  however,  of  great  service  in  supplying  an  antidote  to  the 
sense  of  solitude  among  absolute  strangers  which  would  otherwise 
have  affected  her,  probably  injuriously.  I  am  inclined  to  ascribe 
a  great  deal  of  her  mental  reinstatement  to  the  presence  and 
soothing  influence  of  Miss  A.  K.,  acting  in  connection  with  this 
hallucination,  which  it  has  not  always  been  thought  prudent  to 
discourage." 

For,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  first  thing  Old  Jane  said  after  a  long 
silence,  following  on  the  departure  of  the  three  doctors  from  her 
bedside,  was,  "Where  is  Cynthia  Luttrell  ?  She  was  here  just  now," 
and  stood  out  against  the  nurse's  denial  of  any  such  person.  The 
latter,  however,  shrewdly  detecting  the  nature  of  the  delusion, 
recalled  Alice  (who  had  left  the  ward  with  Sir  Rupert  and  the 
others)  again  to  the  bedside  of  the  patient;  but  without  bringing 
any  of  the  doctors  back.  When  Alice  resumed  her  place  by  the  bed, 
the  patient  said,  more  clearly  than  she  had  spoken  yet,  "I  am  so 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  415 

glad  you  are  come,  dear!  Kiss  me — only  very  carefully,  and  take 
care  not  to  jolt  my  head.  Is  that  nurse  gone?"  There  was  the 
slightest  shade  of  asperity  in  the  tone  of  the  question.  The  nurse 
and  Alice  exchanged  nods,  almost  imperceptibly,  and  the  former 
acquiesced  in  self -suppression,  disappearing  behind  a  screen.  She 
remained  there,  but  made  some  very  useful  shorthand  notes  of 
what  followed. 

Alice  stooped  over  the  recumbent  figure  and  kissed  the  pale,  thin 
Kps.  A  memory  of  her  own  youth  crossed  her  mind;  one  she  had 
always  kept  intact,  while  many  others  had  faded  outright.  It 
was  the  recollection  of  the  beautiful  and  wonderful  Miss  Heath  as 
she  stooped  over  the  pallid  remnant  of  what  she  had  had  to  call 
her  mother.  To  think  that,  even  then,  this  poor  old  thing  was  here, 
in  this  very  building — had  indeed  been  here  thirty  years  and  more ! 
It  was  not  a  thing  for  the  mind  to  face.  Alice's  could  not  supply  a 
word.  Besides,  had  she  spoken  she  might  have  gone  hysterical. 
That  would  never  do!  She  kissed  the  poor  cold  lips,  not  grudg- 
ingly, in  silence,  and  sat  down  as  before.  Old  Jane  continued, 
evidently  quite  satisfied  it  was  Cynthia  Luttrell,  whoever  she  was : 

"I  was  so  sorry  you  couldn't  come  last  night — at  least  last  week 
or — when  was  I  brought  here  ?"    Alice  showed  presence  of  mind. 

"When  was  Mrs.  Verrinder  brought  here,  nurse?"  But  Mrs. 
Gaisford  was  far  too  astute  to  speak,  and  Alice  continued:  "She'll 
be  back  directly,  and  I'll  ask  her.    I  was  sorry  too." 

"Because  you  know  John  and  I  got  your  old  cousin  Becky  on 
the  story  of  the  ring,  and  it  was  more  interesting  than  I  can  tell 
you.    I  feel  so  much  better  since  that  tea." 

"I'm  so  glad.    I  do  wish  I  had  been  there  to  hear  it." 

"Never  mind!    We  must  get  her  on  it  again,  when  I'm  up.    It 

was  so  stupid  of  me  not  to  recollect  the  drugget.     I'd  noticed  it 

going  up,  and  then  coming  back  forgot  all  about  it.    Then  I  tried 

to  save  the  books  and  missed  the  banister  rail."     She  was  almost 

garrulous,  talking  as  one  who  had  settled  down  to  a  chat.    Mrs. 

Gaisford,   in   her  concealment,   felt  glad  her  pencil   would  not 

want  cutting.     Alice,  always  adventurous,  resolved  to  run  a  risk. 

"Cousin  Becky  does  chatter  so !"  she  said.    It  was  a  success.    "She 

does!    But  I  can  tell  you  we  quite  forgave  her,  this  time.     She 

said  she  thought  we  knew  it  all,  long  ago !    But  what  with  all  these 

new  excitements,  and  the  new  gas-lamps  in  Pall  Mall,  we  young 

people  never  troubled  about  our  fathers  and  mothers.     She  went 

1^^  on  talking,  like  old  people  do,  you  know,  dear,  and  she  must  be 

^^H  near  ninety."    Oh,  how  untruthful  Alice  did  feel!    Old  Jane  con- 

^^H  tinned : — 

■ 


416  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

"I  should  like  to  tell  you  the  whole  story  sometime.  Only  it's  a 
pity  I  can't  now!  I  recollect  it  all  so  plain — as  if  it  was  half-an- 
hour  ago.  But  I  think  I  shall  have  to  have  a  tooth  seen  to.  My 
mouth  isn't  comfortable."  Alice's  curiosity  got  the  better  of  her. 
She  could  not  resist  saying  something  to  keep  "cousin  Becky"  in 
the  foreground. 

"What  was  it  set  her  off  talking  about  this  particular  story  ?" 

"She'd  had  news  of  a  tradesman's  wife  in  Kentish  Town  whom 
she  used  to  help  with  money.  I  can't  remember  her  name.  But  she 
was  a  sort  of  illegitimate  niece,  or  cousin.  I  fancy  she  was  a 
daughter  or  granddaughter  of  Sir  Cramer  Luttrell — that  would 
be  Becky's  uncle,  you  know, — that  horrible  man!"  This  seemed 
to  want  an  assent,  and  Alice  gave  it,  feeling  more  and  more  a 
liar. 

"All  this  happened  when  Becky  was  sixteen."  This  came  rather 
suddenly,  after  a  short  pause,  in  which  the  old  woman  perhaps 
dozed.  She  spoke  as  though  she  was  continuing  a  story.  "I  mean 
all  this  about  the  duel  and  that  odious  sister  of  his.  She  was  as 
bad  as  he  was.  It's  funny  that  old  Becky  should  be  such  a  nice 
old  lady !  Because  she  is  a  dear  old  thing,  with  her  grand  manners 
and  old-fashioned  language.  Surely  that  must  be  John  come 
back?"  Alice  said  she  would  go  and  see,  and  came  back  reporting 
a  negative.  She  remarked  that  little  performances  of  this  sort 
seemed  to  satisfy  at  the  time.  Just  so  we  derive  satisfaction  from 
walking  to  the  corner  of  the  street  to  anticipate  an  expected  return 
by  a  few  seconds. 

But  when  she  came  back  she  found  the  patient  drowsing  off.  She 
roused  up  a  little  to  say,  "I  do  wish  I  could  recollect  the  name  of 
that  woman  at  Kentish  Town,"  and  then  became  apparently  uncon- 
scious. 

It  was  clear  to  Alice  that  this  vividly  remembered  narrative  of 
sixty  years  past,  heard  then  from  the  lips  of  an  old  lady  of  ninety, 
might  put  her  in  touch  with  some  forgotten  events  of  at  least  a 
hundred  and  thirty  years  ago !  What  might  there  not  be,  hanging 
on  this  frail  old  life?  Her  curiosity  was  intensely  excited.  The 
nurse  also  was  eagerly  on  the  qui  vive.  Between  them  they  con- 
certed a  plan  of  action.  As  the  patient  had  got  this  misconception 
about  Alice  being  "Cynthia  Luttrell"  let  her  keep  it !  If  it  helped 
her  on  through  the  dangers  of  convalescence  after  the  operation, 
so  much  the  better.  As  to  the  discovery  that  she  had  been  deceived 
in  this,  when  she  came  to  know  the  whole  truth — indeed,  as  to  any- 
thing at  all  making  any  difference,  the  idea  was  absurd.  Let  an 
imaginary  "Cynthia  Luttrell"  be  made  a  stepping-stone. 


ALICE-FOR-SHOKT  417 

Alice,  with  her  usual  intrepidity,  volunteered  to  live  and  sleep 
at  the  Asylum  for  the  time  being,  as  her  presence  was  so  clearly 
beneficial.  The  arrangement  was  easily  made,  and  a  messenger 
despatched  to  Harley  Street  with  a  letter,  to  bring  back  necessaries. 
When  he  got  there,  the  only  member  of  the  family  in  the  house 
happened  to  be  Miss  Lucy,  waiting  for  friends  to  call  for  her  to 
go  to  the  Botanic  Gardens.  She  read  the  letter  and  pocketed  it, 
and  despatched  the  goods;  and  when  she  rejoined  her  family  (who 
were  a  little  puzzled  at  Alice  being  so  late)  announced  to  them  that 
Aunty  Lissy  was  gone  to  Bedlam,  and  there  was  her  letter  if  they 
liked  to  look  at  it ! 

Charles,  when  he  came  late  in  the  evening,  was  much  disquieted 
at  this  escapade  of  Alice's.  "Just  see  what  a  little  while  ago 
she  was  ill  herself,"  said  he  to  his  sister.  But  Peggy  reassured  him, 
telling  him  Rupert  was  driving  down  to  the  Asylum  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  he  had  better  stop  and  go  with  him.  And  as  for  Alice, 
she  had  been  quite  well  and  strong  for  three  months  past,  and  he 
needn't  be  an  old  fidget! 

The  steady  drip  of  the  rain  which  had  begun  again  and  threat- 
ened to  go  on  through  the  night  made  the  gloom  gloomier  at  the 
Asylum.  The  ward,  or  room,  the  patient  had  been  placed  in  had  no 
other  occupant  than  herself,  the  nurse,  and  Alice,  for  whom  a  bed 
had  been  prepared  near  by,  while  that  of  the  nurse  was  concealed 
behind  the  screen.  There  was  an  evident  animus  on  the  patient's 
part  against  this  woman,  but  feelings  of  this  kind  are  so  common 
in  nerve  and  mental  cases,  that  no  importance  was  attached  to  it. 
The  only  concession  made  was  that  she  was  to  be  kept  out  of  sight 
as  much  as  possible;  while  Alice's  soothing  influence — which  could 
not  be  gainsaid — was  to  be  made  the  most  of. 

There  was  a  small  anteroom  with  an  open  fire  in  it,  which  was 
welcome;  for  the  weather  had  gone  bitterly  cold,  as  well  as  rainy. 
The  ward  was  well  warmed,  but  a  stove  is  not  an  open  fire;  and 
Alice  and  the  nurse  felt  glad  of  the  alternative.  They  satisfied 
themselves  that  the  slightest  sound  from  the  patient's  bed  would 
reach  them,  and  sat  on  late  into  the  night,  finding  many  things 
to  talk  about. 

"You'll  see  it  will  be  as  I  say,"  said  Mrs.  Gaisford.  "She'll  go 
back  again  on  this  conversation  that  happened  immediately  before 
the  accident,  and  then  get  tired  and  fall  asleep.  She  may  never  do 
anything  else,  all  the  rest  of  her  life." 

"But  suppose  her  head  gets  stronger — ^you  said  why  shouldn't 
it?" 


418  ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 

"And  I  don't  see  why  it  shouldn't,  but  it  may  not.  Predictions 
are  not  much  good  in  cases  of  this  sort.  If  it  does,  she'll  remember 
just  like  you  or  me,  and  then  she'll  have  to  be  told." 

"It's  very  dreadful." 

"So  it  is;  but  one  is  sure  to  have  to  put  up  with  something, 
and  it  may  as  well  be  this  as  anything  else.  Was  that  her?" 
Alice  went  to  see,  but  the  figure  on  the  bed  was  silent  and 
motionless.  She  returned  to  the  fireside,  and  settled  down  to  a 
chat. 

"How  came  you  to  go  in  for  Mental  Cases  ?"  she  asked.  You  see, 
during  Alice's  two  years'  training  (at  a  London  Hospital)  she  had 
fallen  into  sympathy  with  nursehood. 

"I  was  a  Mental  Case  myself.  Here.  Acute  Suicidal  Mania. 
Then  I  married  one  of  the  attendants."  As  Alice  had  made  up 
her  mind  not  to  be  surprised  at  anything,  this  was  easy. 

"Mr.  Gaisford  is  at  Witley  just  now.  That's  the  convalescent 
Home.  That's  where  I  met  him.  We've  no  children.  But  I 
shouldn't  have  been  the  least  afraid.  I  saw  you  thought  of  inher- 
itance?"   Alice  nodded. 

"There  was  nothing  to  inherit.  I  was  as  sane  as  you  are  now. 
But  under  the  same  circumstances  you  would  try  to  kill  yourself. 
It  was  the  only  thing  a  girl  of  sixteen,  in  her  senses,  could  try  to 
do,  that  I  can  see."  Then,  dropping  her  voice,  though  there  was 
no  one  near,  the  madhouse  nurse  told  Alice  her  story.  It  has  noth- 
ing to  do  with  ours ;  but,  briefly,  it  was  a  tale  of  the  sudden  revela- 
tion, to  a  totally  inexperienced  girl,  of  the  full  resources  of  the 
Devil.    We  need  neither  tell  it,  nor  dwell  on  it. 

"He  was  a  Churchwarden,"  said  Mrs.  Gaisford  in  conclusion, 
"great  churchgoer — used  to  read  prayers  in  our  church.  Man  of 
fifty.     Seven  children.     Said  I  had  encouraged  him." 

"Oh  dear !  what  a  sickening  world  it  is !"  exclaimed  Alice. 

"That's  exactly  what  I  said,  and  felt.  And  that's  what  they 
settled  I  was  mad  for.  They  preached  to  me — said  it  was  wicked 
to  try  and  destroy  myself." 

"What  did  you  say  to  them?" 

"Said  it  was  God's  fault,  not  mine." 

"What  did  they  say  to  that?" 

"They  couldn't  say  anything.  What  was  there  to  be  said?'* 
Alice  wasn't  prepared  with  an  answer.  "How  long  were  you  here  ?" 
she  asked. 

"Eighteen  months.  Then  I  was  sent  to  Witley.  By-the-bye,  it 
was  there  I  saw  this  case  first.  Dr.  Fludyer  had  her  sent  down 
there  for  a  change.    He  was  curious  to  see  if  it  would  have  any 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  419 

effect.  Her  husband  went  down  too.  He  always  lived  close  to  the 
case.    Because  there  might  have  been  a  change." 

"And  he  died  sixteen  years  ago?" 

"Quite  that.  Let's  see!  Yes — I've  been  married  fourteen.  It 
was  then  I  met  Gaisford.  He  was  a  yoimg  doctor — at  least  he 
would  have  been  if  he  could  have  passed.  But  he  was  always 
ploughed,  on  Brain.  It  was  a  subject  he  had  given  special  atten- 
tion to,  so  he  got  a  place  here.  Sir  Rupert  says  he  knows  more 
about  madness  than  all  the  staff  put  together." 

"How  came  he  to  propose  to  you  ?" 

"I  know  all  about  it,  so  I  can  tell  you.  He  and  two  others  were 
talking,  in  the  garden.  And  they  saw  me  on  the  lawn,  with  a 
friend.  His  friend  said:  'I  don't  believe  that  Case  is  mad,  or  ever 
was.  If  she  had  a  husband  she  would  never  try  to  pitch  herself 
out  of  window.'  My  husband — that  is,  Mr.  Gaisford — took  a  good 
look  to  make  sure,  and  then  said :  'I'll  play  you  fifty  up  for  which 
it's  to  be,'  And  they  went  to  the  billiard  room,  and  he  won  in 
two  breaks,  and  came  across  the  lawn  and  asked  me  to  marry  him. 
It  didn't  take  long." 

When  Alice  told  this  to  Charles,  afterwards,  he  recalled  how 
he  had  met  Verrinder,  on  his  way  to  Shellacombe,  a  few  days  after 
her  misadventure  at  Surge  Point.  How  things  do  intersect  in  this 
world  1 

The  end  of  the  story  made  Alice  feel  cheerful  again.  She  could 
sleep  now,  she  thought.  So  she  went  to  bed,  not  far  from  the 
patient,  for  readiness'  sake.  Mrs.  Gaisford  said  she  would  see 
the  fire  out,  and  then  go  too. 

She  was  going  to  settle  down  to  go  to  sleep,  when  the  old  lady 
spoke  again,  but,  as  she  thought,  not  coherently.  For  what  she 
said  was,  "I've  just  recollected  the  name  of  that  Kentish  Town 
cousin  woman.  It  was  Alice  Kavanagh,"  She  was  mixing  the 
recollection  of  what  she  had  lately  heard  with  the  memories  of  sixty 
years  back. 


CHAPTEK  XL 

HOW   ALICE   RAN   AWAY,   AND   OLD   JANE   GUESSED.      HOW   CHARLES   AND 
ALICE  GOT  PHOTOGRAPHED  IN   VERRINDER's  LODGINGS 

Alice  lay  down  under  the  impression  she  could  go  to  sleep  on  the 
Bpot,  without  more  ado.  As  soon  as  her  head  reached  the  pillow, 
she  found  this  was  a  mistake.  The  ceaseless  drip  of  the  rain, 
and  some  unwarrantable  limb-twitchings  without  antecedents,  had 
their  say  in  the  matter.  But  she  found  her  way  to  dreamland  in 
the  end,  and  a  very  disagreeable  dreamland  it  was.  For  there  was 
a  Hospital  there  made  up  of  all  her  Hospitals,  and  Sir  Rupert  was 
lecturing  on  her  smallpox  marks,  and  all  the  students  refused  to 
kiss  her  on  account  of  them,  and  she  was  sorry.  Only  she  couldn't 
be  sure  whether  it  was  Sir  Rupert  or  that  Churchwarden.  She 
was  hoping  it  was  really  the  latter,  when  an  intelligent  nurse,  with 
wings,  suddenly  said  "Cynthia!"  and  she  awoke  with  a  start.  In 
a  few  seconds  Old  Jane,  who  had  spoken,  again  said  "Cynthia!" 
and  Alice  said  she  was  coming. 

"Here  I  am,  Mrs.  Verrinder,"  said  she,  and  was  at  the  bedside 
in  an  instant. 

"Would  you  light  a  candle,  dear?  I  want  to  see  if  I  can't  get 
this  thing  on  my  head  comfortabler.    I  was  asleep." 

The  nurse  was  on  the  alert;  but,  true  to  the  plan  of  campaign, 
had  allowed  Alice  to  go  first.  She  came  forward  and  whispered  to 
Alice.  "We  must  fuss  a  little,  to  satisfy  her.  We  can't  toitch  the 
bandages  now."  A  little  manipulation  of  this  sort,  and  Old  Jane, 
who  probably  was  feeling  restraint  more  as  vitality  increased, 
decided  that  that  was  much  comfortabler.  Mrs.  Gaisford  said, 
under  her  breath  to  Alice,  that  she  would  have  been  an  enormously 
strong  person,  had  she  lived  (sic!),  and  retired  to  her  concealment, 
to  take  notes.  Old  Jane  went  on  talking  with  less  of  apparent 
effort. 

"I  really  am  feeling  better,  dear.  I  think  it's  you.  You  do  me 
good.  Come  and  sit  by  me — touch  me."  Alice  did  so.  "You  know, 
dear,  you  mustn't  think  it  was  you  I  meant,  when  I  said  that  about 
Christian-naming.  I  didn't  want  you  to  call  me  Mrs.  Verrinder. 
You  say  Kate."  Alice  afterwards  felt  vain  of  her  penetration. 
Instead  of  trying  to  find  out  what  the  incident  was  in  last  night's 

420 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  421 

conversation  (sixty  years  ago),  a  thing  of  really  no  importance, 
she  acted  on  the  hint  at  once. 

"Did  I,  dear  Kate  ?  I  didn't  know.  I  suppose  it  was  because  of 
the  nurse.  She's  gone."  How  lucky,  thought  she,  that  she  had  not 
called  her  Jane;  of  course  that  was  a  sobriquet. 

"I  don't  like  her,"  said  Old  Jane.  "But  you  are  so  nice.  Now 
I  want  to  tell  you  what  your  cousin  Becky  said.  Fancy  your  not 
knowing  about  old  Sir  Cramer's  will!" 

"It  is  odd.    But  I've  never  heard  a  word  of  it." 

"Well,  you  know,  it  was  like  this.  Old  Sir  Cramer — that  was  his 
uncle,  you  know? — ^he  was  the  man  that  married  the  great  heiress 
and  brought  all  the  money  into  the  family.  Let  me  see !  She  was 
a  Saxelby,  and  limped — not  the  Northallerton  family — Gloucester 
people,  I  fancy." 

Alice  was  so  afraid  the  old  memory  would  wander  away  into 
seductive  genealogies,  that  she  went  the  length  of  supporting  the 
claims  of  the  Gloucester  people.  But  she  need  not  have  done  this 
violence  to  her  conscience.  There  was,  behind  the  patient's  readi- 
ness to  converse  about  the  last  vivid  recollection  of  her  healthy, 
youthful  life,  a  growing  need  for  explanation  of  her  surround- 
ings. This  had  been  kept  in  abeyance  by  suggestions  that  her  hus- 
band's return  was  imminent,  and  it  was  clear  that  at  any  moment 
dissatisfaction  might  set  in,  and  suspicion  could  not  be  headed 
off  indefinitely.  It  seemed  to  Alice  that  a  wave  of  misgiving 
passed  through  her  mind  at  this  moment.  For  there  was  a  tone 
of  distress  in  her  voice  as  she  continued. 

"Perhaps,  dear  Cynthia,  I  had  better  not  tell  you  now;  another 
time  might  be  better.  I'll  recollect  it  all  for  you.  Is  that  nurse 
here?  Oh  no,  I  don't  want  her!  I  only  wanted  to  know  she 
wasn't  listening."  This  was  trying  to  an  inexperienced  liar. 
How  Alice  vowed  to  herself  that  she  would  never  incur  the  like 
embarrassment  again!  It  wasn't  her  own  veracity  she  was  con- 
cerned about.  That  might  take  its  chance.  It  was  the  fear  that  if 
she  ventured  too  far  in  an  unexplored  land  of  mendacity,  she  might 
lose  her  way  or  get  stuck  in  a  bog.  She  fell  back  on  an  ambiguity 
that  seemed  to  admit  everything,  and  assure  sympathy.  "Better 
speak  low!"  she  said,  and  got  nearer,  as  though  to  listen  better. 
The  old  voice  fell  almost  to  a  whisper. 

"I  don't  want  her  to  hear  what  I  was  going  to  say.  I  can't  tell 
what  it  is,  but  I  feel  as  if  there  was  something  wrong.  It  may  be 
my  head."  Alice  felt  it  would  be  quite  safe  to  assent  to  this,  and 
indeed  laid  stress  upon  it.  But  the  reference  to  the  head  injury 
as  a  means  of  accounting  for  everything  seemed  to  be  losing  force. 


422  ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 

Old  Jane  fell  back  on  the  most  troublesome  point.  "Wliere  can 
John  have  gone,  not  to  be  back  by  now?  If  he  had  gone  to  the 
Gossetts',  he  certainly  would  have  been  back.  Can  he  have  gone 
to  the  Furnivals'  ?"  Alice  ventured  on  saying,  "Yes !  can  he  ?"  But 
she  was  sorry  she  had  spoken  at  all,  for  the  old  woman,  noting  a 
sound  in  her  voice,  said:  "You're  not  crying,  dear?  Not  about 
me?  I  shall  be  all  right  soon  when  John  comes  back,  and  then 
we'll  have  the  piano  moved,  and  we'll  try  the  duet  in  the  front-room. 
That  back-room  was  always  bad  for  music."  She  went  on  with  some 
references  to  the  arrangements  of  her  house.  Alice  did  not  under- 
stand clearly  enough  to  recollect  them,  and  Mrs.  Gaisford  could 
not  hear.  Then  she  said :  "You  know  the  front  top  room  was  to  be 
the  nursery — now  we  may  never  want  it.  No,  dear  Cynthia,  don't 
now,  don't !  Not  because  of  me !" — Alice  made  a  shift  to  pull  her- 
self together,  and  speak  courageously — it  was  a  poor  attempt.  The 
old  voice  that  went  on  was  weak,  but  brave. — "You  mustn't  think 
that  I  shall  fret  about  my  baby.  It  was  God's  will.  And  the  doctor 
said  it  could  not  have  lived.  .  .  .  But  I  know  John  will  fret — 
and  then  you  know  he  may  blame  me  for  being  so  careless.  I  shall 
be  so  glad  when  he  comes.  .  .  .  We  used  to  talk  about  the  little 
thing,  and  how  nice  one  of  our  own  would  be.  And  if  it  was  a  girl 
it  was  to  be  called  Fanny.  And  if  a  boy,  Frank.  And  he  wanted 
a  girl,  and  I  didn't  care.  .  .  .  Oh,  dear!  it's  all  done  with 
now.  .  .  .    Perhaps  that's  him  ?" 

It  was  no  use — Alice  could  hold  out  no  longer.  She  felt  the 
hysterical  tears  coming,  and  that  come  they  must.  She  had  pres- 
ence of  mind  and  voice  enough  to  say,  "Yes,  Mrs.  Gaisford!"  as 
though  she  had  been  called;  and  then  she  slipped  away  into  the 
anteroom,  the  door  of  which  had  been  left  unclosed,  as  the  nurse 
had  not  thought  it  necessary  to  shut  and  lock  it  according  to  the 
usual  rule,  the  outer  door  being  locked  and  they  being  the  only 
occupants.  She  had  just  time  to  close  it,  when  she  gave  way  to  a 
torrent  of  tears.  For  the  life  of  her  she  could  not  keep  them  back. 
But  she  could  recover  herself — would  do  so  in  a  minute.  Only  give 
her  a  minute !  Perhaps  she  was  a  little  weakened  since  that  illness, 
for  all  she  had  been  so  well  for  three  months. 

She  felt  it  was  best — if  it  could  be  done— to  have  her  cry  out 
in  that  minute.  If  it  could  not,  what  a  useless  girl  was  she  in  any- 
thing of  this  sort!  And  she  had  boasted  to  herself  of  her  own 
strength,  many  a  time.  She  gave  way  for  the  minute ;  then  choked 
it  back.  "Courage  now!"  said  or  thought  she  to  herself,  and  laid 
her  hand  on  the  knob  of  the  door.  Perhaps,  please  God,  the  old 
lady  had  drowsed  off  again. 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  423 

But  there  was  another  hand  on  the  other  side.  The  door  was 
opened  from  without  and  the  nurse  came  in.  Her  face  looked 
set  and  stony  in  the  firelight,  for  the  gas  was  turned  down.  She 
had  been  behind  the  screen,  and  had  come  out  as  Alice  closed  the 
door.    The  minute  had  been  more  than  a  minute. 

Alice  had  heard  no  voices  through  the  door,  only  a  cry.  But  it 
was  a  solid  door  with  a  listed  rim,  and  shut  close.  She  saw  by  Mrs. 
Gaisford's  face  that  something  had  passed,  and  that  it  had  been  of 
moment.  Yet  she  started  when,  in  reply  to  her  questioning 
"Why?"  that  was  a  response  to  an  admonitory  finger  that  she 
pointed  at  as  she  asked  it,  came  two  words,  "She's  told !" 

"Oh  dear !  it  was  my  fault !"  and  truly,  Alice  fancied  it  was. 

"It  must  have  come,"  said  the  other.  "Go  in.  She's  quite  quiet 
now."  And  Alice  passed  in,  feeling  that  it  would  be  no  great 
wonder  if  the  quietness  were  death. 

But  it  was  not.  She  had  gone  back  into  a  semi-torpid  state,  and 
remained  so.  A  shock  that  might  have  produced  insensibility  for 
a  time  in  a  person  in  full  health  had  reacted  in  a  greater  degree  on 
a  system  that  was  fighting  for  existence.  When  six  hours  later 
Sir  Rupert  arrived,  accompanied  by  Charles,  who  had  been  feeling 
very  uneasy  about  Alice,  the  patient  had  not  moved  nor  spoken. 

"We  could  hardly  expect  anything  else,"  said  Rupert.  "And 
as  you  say,  Mrs.  Gaisford,  it  must  have  come,  sooner  or  later. 
I  don't  think  we  need  assume  that  it  will  be  permanent." 

"Won't  she  have  to  be  told  all  over  again  ?"  asked  Alice.  "That's 
what  I'm  afraid  of," 

"Well,  Aunty  Lissy,  don't  let's  beg  and  borrow  troubles.  What 
was  it  that  passed,  exactly,  Mrs.  Gaisford?" 

"After  Miss  Kavanagh  ran  away?  You  did  run  away.  Miss 
Kavanagh,  now  didn't  you?" 

"Simply  turned  tail  and  fled,"  said  Alice.  "I  couldn't  bear  it  1" 
And,  indeed,  Alice  was  holding  very  tight  to  Charles's  arm,  for 
protection  against  her  own  shaken  nervous  system.  Mrs.  Gaisford 
continued,  stoically  enough.  It  is  possible  that  the  patient's  animus 
against  her  had  contributed  to  her  stoicism.  On  the  other  hand, 
attraction  towards  Alice  had  no  doubt  hastened  the  latter's  collapse. 

"I  came  out  from  the  screen  where  I  had  been  taking  notes 
(here  they  are),  and  then  immediately  the  old  lady  said:  'Why 
is  Miss  Luttrell  crying  ?    What  have  I  done  ?'  " 

"Miss  Luttrell?"  exclaimed  together  Sir  Rupert  and  Charles, 
both  with  surprise.  But  Sir  Rupert's  was  only  that  another  per- 
son had  been  in  the  room ;  Charles's  astonished  tone  of  voice  went 
deeper.     Sir  Rupert  said:  "Let's  have  Miss  Luttrell  back  then." 


424  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

Charles  answered  Alice's  "Why  whew-w-w,  Mr.  Charley?"  in  a 
rapid  undertone:  "It's  very  queer!     I'll  tell  after." 

"There  was  no  Miss  Luttrell,"  said  the  nurse,  incomprehensibly; 
and  then  Alice  cleared  up  the  situation. 

"She  took  me  for  a  girl  named  Cynthia  Luttrell  that  she  knew — 
sixty  years  ago!"  Charles  felt  tue  hand  on  his  arm  tighten,  as 
the  speaker  shuddered.  "We  let  her  think  so.  It  seemed  to  soothe 
her.  But  I  couldn't  have  kept  it  up.  It  must  have  come."  Then 
Mrs.  Gaisford  went  on  with  her  report. 

"I  said,  'You  have  done  nothing,  poor  soul!'  I  couldn't  help 
speaking  so.  Sir  Kupert,  but  perhaps  it  wasn't  cool  judgment. 
She  tried  to  sit  up,  and  said — with  a  sort  of  indignation — 'Why 
do  you  "poor  soul"  me,  woman?  Why  am  I  to  be  "poor  souled"?' 
I  said,  Tor  God's  sake  be  quiet.  Ma'am,  and  I'll  tell  you  all' — not 
meaning  to  tell  quite  the  whole.  She  said,  'Something  is  being  kept 
back  from  me' — and  after  a  moment's  pause  (while  I  was  trying  to 
feel  clear  about  it) — 'I  know  it!  My  husband  is  dead?'  It  came 
so  suddenly  I  could  not  speak  and  she  cried  out  and  fell  back.  And 
she  hasn't  moved  since.  Oh  yes!  I  know  she  understood.  She 
saw  from  my  silence."    This  was  in  answer  to  a  joint  enquiry. 

They  approached  the  bed,  where  the  figure  lay,  as  still  as  before 
it  had  first  spoken.  There  was  no  response  to  pressure  or  move- 
ment of  the  hand.  But  the  pulse  and  heart-beat  were  regular,  and 
the  breathing  steady.  "Unconsciousness  was  instantaneous,  eh, 
Fludyer?"  said  Sir  Rupert  to  his  colleague,  who  had  come  in  in 
time  to  hear  most  of  the  story. 

"I  don't  think  the  game's  up,  though,  Johnson  ?" 

"Nor  I.  She'll  pull  round  in  time.  Hope  she  won't  have  to  be 
told  again!" 

Decisions  followed,  touching  action  to  be  taken.  Mrs.  Gaisford 
to  remain  behind  in  constant  watch.  Sir  Rupert  to  be  driven 
rapidly  away  to  an  appointment,  but  willing  and  able  to  give 
Charles  and  Alice  a  lift  as  far  as  Eaton  Square.  Lift  rejected,  as 
not  going  home  to  the  heart  of  the  subject.  No !  Alice  would  leave 
her  things  in  case  of  coming  back,  and  you  would  take  her  for  a 
little  walk,  Mr.  Charley  dear,  wouldn't  you,  and  then  we  would 
have  a  nice  drive  home  in  a  hansom  because  it  had  stopped  rain- 
ing and  was  going  to  come  out  quite  fine.  Alice  brightened  up 
over  the  prospect.  But  it  seemed  horribly  unfeeling  to  go  away 
and  leave  Mrs.  Gaisford  all  alone.  Especially  because  the  usual 
result  of  twelve  hours  of  Alice  had  come  to  Mrs.  Gaisford.  She 
was  in  love,  and  Alice  had  to  kiss  the  excellent  woman  for  con- 
solation.   Then  action  was  taken  on  the  decisions.    Sir  Rupert  was 


ALICE-FOR-SHOKT  425 

whirled  away  Londonwards  to  fresh  fields  and  consultations  new, 
and  Charles  and  Alice  forsook  Mrs.  Gaisford  and  found  themselves 
sauntering  purposelessly  in  the  opposite  direction.  Alice  spoke 
first. 

"Oh,  if  she  might  only  die !    Never  come  to  at  all  I" 

«WeU-ll-U!  I  don't  know '' 

**0h  yes!  I  know  very  well  thougL  I'll  tell  you  what  I  should 
really  like,  Mr.  Charley." 

"Tell  away,  darling!"  Charles  used  to  use  all  sorts  of  terms  of 
endearment  to  Alice,  especially  when  she  was  visibly  in  trouble. 
At  this  moment  she  was  taking  fuU  leave  to  cry,  as  a  release  and 
luxury. 

"I  should  like  when  I  get  to  Harley  Street  to  find  a  telegraph 
message  to  say  she  was  gone."  For  in  those  days  people  didn't  say 
wire,  nor  even  telegram. 

"Poor  old  lady!  I  wouldn't  grudge  her  the  pleasure  of  dying. 
Heaven  knows!  But  I  want  to  hear  who  Cynthia  Luttrell  was. 
Particularly  because  I  remember  poor  Verrinder  himself  telling 
me  the  old  No.  40  house  belonged  to  a  family  of  that  name." 

"Then  that's  why  you  said  whew-w-w?" 

"That  is  the  reason  I  employed  that  expression.  Madam.  That 
alone  was,  I  submit,  a  sufficient  reason  for  the  employment  of 
that  expression."  Charles  is  making  use,  perhaps  you  may  observe, 
of  the  mock-pompous  phrasing  he  so  often  falls  into  when  he  is 
in  a  particularly  good  humour.  He  is  now  supremely  happy,  for  he 
has  got  Alice  all  to  himself,  and  though  he  is  concerned  at  her 
distress  about  Old  Jane,  he  knows  it  will  clear  off.  Besides,  this 
sauntering  with  Alice  in  streets  unknown,  without  an  idea  where 
they  will  lead,  or  any  scrutable  purpose,  exactly  meets  his  views. 

"I  may  mention,  Miss  Kavanagh,  that  if  I  hadn't  said  whew-w-w 
for  that  reason,  I  should  have  said  it  for  another.  So,  as  the  sayin* 
is,  it's  as  broad  as  it  is  long." 

"Now,  Mr.  Charley  dear,  do  come  dovs^nstairs,  and  be  a  Chris- 
tian— I  mean  tell  me  right  off,  and  don't  go  round  and  round.  I 
never  met  such  an  mimitigated  circumference  as  you  are  in  all 
my  life." 

"Very  well  then!  As  soon  as  we  have  not  been  run  over  by 
this  cab,  which  is  now  approaching,  I  will  throw  off  all  disguise 
and  speak  candidly."  And  as  soon  as  they  have  reached  an  oppo- 
site side  of  a  road,  Charles  keeps  his  promise,  in  a  dry  business 
manner. 

"Cynthia  Luttrell  was  the  name  on  one  of  the  portraits  Bauer- 
Btein  bought  at  Verrinder's  sale.    It  was  written  on  the  back,  like 


426  ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 

Phyllis  Cartwrlght.  Bauerstein  may  have  it  still.  I  couldn't  say 
at  this  length  of  time  whether  it  resembled  your  ugly  little  mug, 
or  not."  Alice's  grave  absorption  in  the  subject  ignores  this  un- 
provoked discourtesy.  "She  couldn't  see  it,  I'm  sure — the  mug  I 
mean.  It  must  have  been  my  voice.  You  know  it  must  seem  to 
her  only  like  yesterday  that  she  heard  this  Miss  Luttrell's  voice.  I 
wonder  if  she  is  still  living?" 

"Most  unlikely.  Dr.  Fludyer  could  not  find  a  trace  of  any 
friend  or  connection." 

"What  was  Sir  Cramer  Luttrell?" 

"I  don't  know.    I've  never  heard  of  him." 

"She  talked  about  him.  He  was  a  bad  lot — a  horrible  man,  she 
said — and  his  sister  was  as  odious  as  himself.  But  let  me  tell  you 
aU  as  I  recollect  it."  And  thereon  Alice  gave  all  the  fragments 
as  they  had  come. 

"It  made  me  wish,"  said  she,  "that  I  had  really  understood  better 
what  we  really  do  know,  and  what  we  don't,  about  the  history  of 
No.  40.  Now  I  had  quite  forgotten  that  Mr.  Verrinder  told  you 
the  house  had  belonged  to  a  family  of  Luttrells.  Don't  you  know 
how  children  forget  things  one  would  think  they  would  remember, 
and  remember  the  most  absurd  things.  Then  when  they  hear 
things  repeated  after,  they  don't  pay  attention  because  they  have 
heard  them  before,  and  they  are  grown-up  people's  things,  and 
only  belong  to  that  obsolete  race.  At  least  I  did.  So,  though  I've 
heard  it  later,  the  story  has  never  caught  on  properly." 

"I  tell  you  what,  Alice-for-short,"  said  Charles,  "we  won't  do 
too  much  speculating  about  it — don't  let's  run  the  risk  of  making 
up  a  legend  out  of  surmises,  and  then  fancying  we've  heard  it. 
We'll  possess  our  souls  in  peace,  and  hope  that  poor  old  Jane  may 
pull  round  enough  to  give  us  some  more  reminiscences.  Fancy 
reaching  back  through  a  hundred  and  thirty  years !" 

"Very  well  then!  Let  it  alone's  the  word.  Now  I  tell  you  what 
I  should  like  to  do.  We  can't  be  far  off  where  her  husband  went 
to  live — I  do  feel  curious  to  see  the  place." 

The  neighbourhood  had  lost  the  shadowy  remains  of  a  semi- 
suburban  character  that  it  still  had  when  Charles  and  Jeff  saw 
poor  Verrinder's  departure  sixteen  years  before,  and  had  become 
sheer  unqualified  town.  But  the  row  of  houses  (they  found  it  with 
some  difficulty)  from  one  roof-top  of  which  he  had  watched  the 
madhouse  dome  for  over  thirty  years — always  hoping,  never  quite 
despairing — there  it  stood,  still;  one  of  those  terraces  that  slowly, 
slowly,  gives  up  its  right  to  be  called  residential,  and  makes  gradual 
concession  to  degrading  miscellanies.    Ground-floors  become  offices 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  427 

where  no  man  sleeps  or  dines ;  basements  that  were  humble  as  mere 
kitchens  thrust  themselves  forward  and  claim  a  status  in  com- 
mercial life  as  storage-room.  Institutions  are  instituted,  and 
supported  (in  vain)  by  Voluntary  Contributions,  t>ti  first-floors 
that  will  one  day  fall  a  prey  to  Dentists,  or  even  to  Clairvoyants. 
Second-floors  submit  to  Milliners  and  Typewriters,  and  invite  the 
Public  up  by  an  independent  appeal  on  the  door-post  in  polished 
brass.  There  too  appear  more  bells  than  Poe  ever  wrote  about, 
or  Irving  acted  in — a  rash  of  bells  that  makes  you  think  before 
you  ring.  And  at  the  door  of  the  house  Charles  indentified  was 
a  top-top-top-bell  that  said  with  emphasis,  "Photographer's  Bell," 
and  seemed  to  have  no  doubt  at  all  about  it.  Charles  remembered 
the  place  on  the  roof :  just  the  place  for  a  Photographic  Studio. 

"I  should  so  like  to  see  the  rooms,"  Alice  said.  '^Mightn't  we 
go  up?" 

"We  should  have  to  be  took,"  said  Charles. 

"Then  let's  be  took,"  said  Alice.  And  they  rang  the  explicit  bell, 
and  it  made  a  great  noise  somewhere.  Then,  to  corroborate  them- 
selves, they  went  leisurely  up  the  stairs. 

They  read  the  door-plate  of  the  Institution  on  the  first  floor,  and 
wondered  at  the  keen  insight  of  its  founders  into  the  needs  of  the 
human  race.  But  Charles  had  forgotten  its  proper  title  before  he 
got  quite  upstairs ;  for  he  called  it  the  "Society  for  Providing  Inex- 
pensive Luncheons  for  Deserving  Baritones,"  which  appeared 
absurd.  However,  it  didn't  matter !  They  got  to  the  photographer. 
And  Charles  represented,  with  perfect  gravity,  that  he  and  Alice 
had  met  as  strangers  outside,  and  she  had  asked  for  his  photograph. 

Might  they  look  out  and  see  the  view?  Yes,  they  might.  What 
was  that  large  dome  over  yonder?  "I  see  you're  both  strangers  in 
this  part  of  the  world,"  said  the  photographer,  trickling  onto  a 
glass,  reflectively.  "That  place  over  there's  Bedlam.  Some  people 
admire  that  dome  very  much.  There  was  a  man  lived  in  these  very 
rooms,  years  ago — an  Artist,  too,  he  was — only  for  the  sake  of  the 
view.    Thirty-odd  years !    Now,  Sir,  if  you're  ready,  I  am," 

When  a  very  promising  negative  had  been  secured,  and  Charles 
had  written  the  address  to  which  six  copies  were  to  be  sent,  he  asked 
the  photographer  whether  he  had  known  the  former  tenant  per- 
sonally. "Kather !"  was  the  reply.  "Why — ^he  killed  himself  with 
chloroform  bought  at  our  shop!" 

Alice  thought  to  herself  that  tragedy  was  easiest  to  bear  with 
when  she  has  the  stage  to  herself.  The  clash  with  grotesquerie 
makes  what  is  grisly  in  itself  grislier  still.  She  and  Charles  did 
not  feel  quite  cheerful  again  till  they  were  having  lunch  at  Gatti's 


428  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

in  the  Strand.  Then  they  went  to  the  National  Gallery,  and  when 
they  reappeared  in  Harley  Street  at  past  six  o'clock,  had  to  confess 
to  having  had  a  regular  good  outing. 

"I'm  quite  in  despair  about  them,"  said  Peggy  to  her  husband 
that  night.    "Are  they  going  to  go  on  like  this  for  ever  ?" 

"You  be  a  sensible  wench  and  let  'em  alone,"  said  Rupert. 
"They're  as  happy  as  ever  they  can  be,  and  what  more  can  you 
want?" 


CHAPTEE  XLI 

how  old  jane  put  on  her  widow's  weeds.  and  saw  herself  in 
the  glass.  how  alice  and  old  jane  resided  temporarily  at 
Charles's  house 

It  must  be  much  less  difficult  to  weave  a  fiction  than  to  give  a 
narrative  of  actual  events.  Our  conviction  is  that  the  former 
would  be  easy  by  comparison.  One  could  do  as  one  pleased;  and 
one's  reader  would  have  to  accept  one's  word  for  the  truth  ot 
statements  inconsistent  with  one  another,  doing  violence  to  his  sense 
of  probability,  and  not  far  apart  enough  for  their  discrepancy  to 
remain  unnoticed.  Of  course  if  any  obligation  rested  on  the 
writer  of  fiction  to  make  improbable  events  seem  probable,  and  give 
plausibility  to  outrages  against  understanding  and  experience,  he 
would  have  his  hands  full. 

With  narrative  of  actual  event,  it  is  otherwise;  that  is  to  say,  if 
the  event  is  to  be  so  narrated  as  not  to  seem  improbable  to  any  and 
every  reader.  We  may  as  well  say  at  once  that  in  this  narrative  we 
have  completely  given  up  the  idea  of  doing  so — in  fact  we  saw  how 
impossible  it  would  be  soon  after  the  first  start.  We  can  only  go 
on,  stupidly  narrating  what  happened,  and  not  allowing  ourselves 
to  be  influenced  towards  curtailment  of  any  portion  by  its  intrinsic 
improbability.  Our  only  motive  in  any  omission  is  our  wish  to 
avoid  prolixity. 

Perhaps  we  ought  to  dwell  at  greater  length  on  the  long  and  care- 
ful nursing  that  followed  the  fearful  shock  poor  old  Jane,  or  Kate, 
had  to  endure — the  shock  that  had  to  be  endured  sooner  or  later, 
and  that  chanced  a  few  hours  sooner;  on  the  slow  recovery  and 
dawn  of  life  in  a  changed  world ;  on  her  life,  in  short,  in  the  Asylum 
until  she  was  cautiously  removed  from  the  awful  home  she  never 
knew  the  name  of,  and  the  terrible  companions  in  misfortune  she 
had  never  seen. 

But  before  we  got  so  far  forward  as  this,  many  things  occurred 
that  we  should  have  liked  to  tell  in  full.  We  cannot  do  more  than 
name  them ;  or  sketch  them  at  most. 

One  was,  the  very  painful  interval  in  which  Old  Jane,  though 
she  knew  of  her  husband's  death,  and  of  the  fact  that  she  had 

429 


430  ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 

passed  some  time  before  she  was  removed  to  "the  Hospital,"  re- 
mained in  complete  ignorance  of  the  duration  of  her  unconscious- 
ness. She  knew  that  her  husband  had  come  to  live  close  at  hand, 
to  watch  for  a  possible  revival ;  that  he  had  been  sleepless  at  night, 
had  resorted  to  a  powerful  soporific,  and  had  killed  himself  with 
an  overdose;  that  Charles  had  made  his  acquaintance  as  a  Student 
of  the  Royal  Academy  "where  he  went  in  the  evening,  because  of 
his  Life  Studentship";  that  "at  first"  it  was  not  thought  advisable 
to  operate,  but  that  her  case  attracted  the  attention  of  Sir  Rupert 
Johnson ;  with  the  result  that  after  much  consultation,  the  operation 
was  decided  on,  and  was  performed  most  successfully  by  Mr. 
Lionel  Isaacson,  the  great  surgeon;  but  though  she  was  told  all 
these  things  she  was  told  nothing  about  times  and  seasons.  Until 
she  came  to  a  knowledge  of  the  truth  about  this,  the  way  she  was 
always  fretting  under  discrepancies  and  impossibilities  was  most 
distressing.  In  the  end  came  the  inevitable  revelation,  and  the 
manner  of  it  was  this : — 

Clothes  had  been  provided  for  her — ^the  fact  that  it  was  a  widow's 
wardrobe  having  removed  many  difficulties  in  choosing  it.  She  had 
been  induced  to  wear  spectacles,  for  which  the  accident  to  the 
head  was  made  responsible.  But  now  the  time  had  come  when 
she  was  fit  to  move,  without  danger  to  the  head.  It  was  the  only 
source  of  apprehension,  for  in  all  other  respects  her  condition  was 
marvellous ;  even  her  teeth  being  better  than  those  of  many  young 
people.     They  had  always  been  carefully  seen  to. 

"She's  a  dear  old  thing,"  said  Alice  to  Charles,  "but  what  is  so 
dreadful  is  that — except  for  the  feel  of  it — she  really  has  no  means 
of  knowing  she  isn't  young.  I  know  perfectly  well  that  the  image 
she  has  of  herself  is  that  of  a  young  widow — probably  very  pretty. 
In  fact  she  as  good  as  says  she  was  thought  so — she  calls  it  is." 
No  doubt  Alice  had  come  to  rank  her  as  a  "dear  old  thing"  the 
more  readily  that  she  herself  had  become,  in  the  old  lady's  eyes, 
such  a  very  dear  young  thing.  In  fact  the  whole  of  the  poor  old 
soul  had  gone  out  in  love  to  Alice — she  was  its  resource  and  refuge 
in  a  barren  land  of  bitter  waters;  the  one  blue  gleam  in  a  winter 
sky. 

So,  the  trying  on  of  her  new  dress  presented  itself  to  the  old 
mind,  that  had  not  aged  with  the  body  it  dwelt  in,  exactly  as  it 
would  have  done  to  any  other  young  woman  of  twenty -four  or  -five ; 
to  Alice,  for  instance,  had  her  case  been  alike,  lapse  of  unknown 
time  apart.  We  do  not  believe  that  under  any  conceivable  circum- 
stances is  a  young  woman,  who  thinks  of  herself  as  comely,  abso- 
lutely indifferent  to  a  new  dress.    Probably  Old  Jane  was  as  nearly 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  431 

indifferent  as  any  recently  bereaved  widow  ever  was.  But  she  was 
curious  to  see  how  the  dress  fitted,  for  all  that. 

"Isn't  the  stuff  heavy?"  she  said,  "and  won't  it  be  too  tight  in 
front  if  I  ever  get  any  flesh  on  my  bones  again?  I've  got  dread- 
fully thin — dreadfully!  Isn't  it  a  very  long  waist?  And  such  a 
lot  of  skirts !" 

"It's  much  the  same  as  mine,  dear  Kate.  But  you're  so  weak, 
you  know.  You  won't  feel  the  weight  when  you  get  a  bit  stronger." 
So  spoke  Alice,  who,  of  course,  had  come  expressly  to  see  it  tried. 
But  she  felt  like  the  skater  on  ice  that  scarcely  bears  him.  Her 
heart  quite  failed  her  as  Old  Jane,  who  could  now  move  about  with- 
out much  difficulty,  "though  feeling  very  strange,"  worked  gradu- 
ally over  towards  a  full-length  mirror  that  had  come  from  Heaven 
knows  what  purpose  connected  with  insanity,  for  her  to  see  her- 
self in.    She  was  preoccupied  and  distressed  with  her  armpits. 

"It  must  be  let  out  a  little  on  this  side,"  she  said,  "it  cuts  under 
the  arms.  But  it  will  do  very  well  for  now.  They  always  are  so 
troublesome  about  that.  I  have  to  speak  every  time,  and  it  never 
does  any  good;  and  I  do  like  room.    Who  is  that?" 

Alice's  heart  was  quaking,  and  she  could  not  speak.  Mrs.  Gais- 
f ord  spoke :  "Who  is  what,  Mrs.  Verrinder  ?"  Old  Jane,  instead  of 
going  nearer  to  the  glass,  looked  all  round  behind  her. 

"I  would  have  sworn,"  said  she,  "that  I  saw  the  reflection  of  a 
new  old  lady,  with  white  hair,  in  the  glass.    Where  is  she  ?" 

"There  is  no  one  here  but  ourselves,"  said  the  nurse. 

"How  very  odd!"  she  replied.  "I  would  have  sworn  it."  And 
then  she  approached  nearer  to  the  mirror;  but,  always  preoccupied 
with  that  vexatious  armpit,  she  did  not  look  up  till  she  got  quite 
close.  Then  she  broke  into  an  hysterical  laugh,  more  painful  to 
hear  than  any  cry  of  pain. 

"Oh,  Cynthia — oh,  Cynthia — it's  me!"  For  she  more  often  called 
Alice  Cynthia  than  not,  although  she  knew.  Alice  helped  her  as  she 
staggered,  and  guided  her,  trembling  like  an  aspen-leaf,  to  a  chair. 
The  old  hands  clung  to  her  as  she  kissed  the  wrinkled  face.  She 
could  not  speak — the  nurse  did  not.  Old  Jane  spoke  first,  through 
gasps  that  caught  her  voice: — 

"Oh  now — oh  now — you  will  tell  me — ^you  will  tell  me  all!  I 
knew  there  was  something — you  will  tell? — will  you  not?"  And 
then  as  one  who  struggles  for  self-control,  she  asked  again  the 
question  she  had  asked  in  the  first  speech  that  had  followed  her 
sixty  years  of  silence,  "What  is  it?" 

"Yes — I  will  tell  you,  dear  Kate.  I  will  tell  you  all !"  And  Alice, 
recovering  herself,  told  in  few  and  resolute  words  the  story  as  we 


432  ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 

know  it.  She  flinched  at  nothing,  and  ended,  "I  was  near  telling 
it  you  all  long  ago,  dear  Kate.    But  I  couldn't  find  the  heart." 

"And  that  is  quite  all?"  asked  Old  Jane,  when  she  had  finished. 
She  seemed  to  have  become  much  calmer. 

"Quite  all!" 

"Help  me  across,  that  I  may  look  again."  She  spoke  as  being 
curious  to  see.  There  was  little  fear  in  her  voice.  "Stand  by  me, 
dear  child,  so !  Then  I  shall  see  both  at  once.  And  that  is  you,  and 
that  is  me !  A  little  further  back  I  shall  see  plainer.  The  glasses 
are  the  wrong  focus  for  this  distance."  She  stood  with  Alice's 
hand  pressed  close  to  her,  for  perhaps  two  minutes,  and  then  said : 
"The  dress  is  not  cut  like  my  grey  poplin.  But  it  will  do  very 
well — only,  John  is  not  here  now.  .  .  ." 

The  only  scheme  that  had  recommended  itself  for  disposing  of 
the  old  lady  on  leaving  the  Asylum  was  that  she  should  go  pro- 
visionally to  Charles's  house;  and  accordingly  a  few  hours  later  she 
was  on  her  way  there  with  Alice  and  Mrs.  Gaisford,  who  were  glad 
on  the  whole  that  their  companion  failed  to  identify  places  and 
buildings.  Perhaps  dim  eyesight  had  more  to  do  with  this  than 
lack  of  memory.  Otherwise  she  might,  by  crossing  the  river,  have 
got  a  clue  to  the  name  of  the  Hospital  she  came  from,  which  they 
had  managed  to  keep  back.  For  all  that  skill  and  never-tiring 
patience  can  do  in  the  most  perfect  of  modern  Hospitals,  to  alle- 
viate the  lot  of  the  most  afflicted  of  mankind,  fails  to  counteract 
the  terror  of  the  name  Bedlam. 

She  did  not  really  grasp  the  position — how  could  she?  That 
Charles  (whom  she  knew  by  no  other  name  as  yet)  and  Alice 
(whom  she  knew  now  to  be  Alice  Kavanagh — though  she  always 
seemed  puzzled  by  the  name)  were  most  hospitably  taking  her  in — 
this  she  understood.  And  also  that  her  stay  was  to  last  until  such 
time  as  some  shadowy  permanent  arrangement  could  be  made;  an 
arrangement  dependent  on  the  discovery  of  a  class  or  section  of 
society  which  the  old  lady  spoke  of  as  "my  relatives."  But  she  did 
not  seem  impressed  by  her  family's  neglect  of  her  in  the  Hospital, 
nor  by  its  delay  in  turning  up  to  relieve  her  hosts  of  her  presence. 
She  shelved  anything  that  threatened  a  difficult  problem,  nearly 
always.  This  was  a  great  relief  to  Alice — was,  as  she  said,  half  the 
battle.  She  used  this  expression  so  often  in  connection  with  Mrs. 
Verrinder,  that  Charles  had  to  point  out  that  the  number  of  halves 
possible,  even  to  battles,  is  limited. 

Whatever  fraction  of  the  battle  it  was,  this  readiness  to  be  quiet 
under  accomplished  facts  was  voted  a  "let-off"  to  the  bystanders 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  433 

in  what  might  else  have  proved  an  embarrassment  in  more  than  one 
case.  She  accepted  the  whole  of  the  relations  between  those  who 
came  to  see  her,  without  curiosity.  And  sometimes  a  good  deal  of 
explaining  was  wanted,  or  would  have  been  had  her  mind  been 
fully  active.  Such  a  mind  might  have  enquired,  restlessly,  what 
was  Alice  to  Charles,  or  Charles  to  Alice?  What  was  Alice's 
position  at  Harley  Street?  Who  or  what  was  Pierre?  But  Old 
Jane  never  asked  any  questions.  She  christened  Charles  "Mr. 
Kavanagh"  at  first,  but  when  she  found  this  was  wrong,  she 
accepted  him  as  Mr.  Heath,  without  renaming  Alice  "Mrs.  Heath," 
although  Alice  more  than  once  thought  she  detected  a  disposition  to 
do  so.  In  truth,  Alice  and  Charles  might  have  puzzled  any  mere 
outsider. 

Mrs.  Gaisford,  towards  whom  her  patient  had  relented,  accom- 
panied her  to  Charles's  as  what  might  be  called  a  nurse  of  first 
instance,  without  intention  to  remain  long  in  charge.  Peggy  (and 
Sir  Eupert  acting  under  her  orders)  had  negotiated  this  in  the 
course  of  several  visits  to  the  Asylum,  which  had  been  fully  appre- 
ciated by  Old  Jane.  "How  sweet  your  Aunt  is !"  said  the  latter  to 
Alice  after  Lady  Johnson's  first  visit.  "She  does  me  good."  And 
Alice  let  the  accusation  of  Aunthood  remain  undefended.  But 
Peggy  was  not  without  a  distinct  motive  in  urging  this  arrange- 
ment. She  took  alarm  at  the  alternative,  which  appeared  to  be  that 
Alice  should  go  instead. 

"If  Alice  goes  and  lives  at  Charles's,"  said  she,  emphatically,  to 
her  husband,  "there  will  simply  be  no  chance  at  all!" 

"I  should  have  thought  the  more  they  saw  each  other  the  better — 
if  that's  your  game?" 

"Of  course  it's  my  game,  darling.  But  you  are  such  a  stupid 
old  dear!  Can't  you  see  that  if  they  go  on  much  longer  like  this 
they'll  get  grimed  in,  and  there  they'll  stick,  like  a  couple  of  geese  ?" 

"You  express  it  beautifully,  dearest!  Doesn't  your  mamma 
express  herself  beautifully,  Alcey?"  This  was  to  the  only  other 
person  present,  who  seemed  to  hold  aloof  from  the  conversation, 
and  to  be  pursuing  a  detached  line  of  thought.  "Me  and  Phifulps 
wants  the  ciprum  on  the  deery  cake  between  us,"  she  says,  quietly 
but  firmly. 

"You  delicious  little  greedy,"  says  her  mother;  "you  know  per- 
fectly well  you  only  put  your  sister  in  to  save  appearances — at  any 
rate  you  shall  not  have  it,  ducky,  till  she  comes.  That's  flat !"  For 
Alcey  has  suggested  that  she  should  become  her  sister's  bailee  in 
the  matter  of  the  citron  on  the  Madeira  cake,  by  holding  out  her 
hand  to  receive  it. 


434  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

"Your  papa  knows  perfectly  what  I  mean,  Alcey — and  you  know 
he  does!  And  you  know.  Dr.  Jomson,  if  Charley  and  Alice  could 
be  dragged  apart,  one  to  Jericho  and  the  other  to  Coventry,  he'd 
write  next  day  to  say  he  couldn't  live  without  her,  and  she  must 
come  at  once  and  make  the  usual  arrangement.    Most  likely  she'd 

have  written  already.    But  if  she's  going  to  live  in  his  house 1 

Another  cup  of  tea  ?" 

"Yes — look  alive !  Because  I  must  run.  I  vote  for  letting  'em 
alone.    It's  strictly — eh?" 

"My  dear !  of  course  it  is !    If  it  isn't  correct  with  an  old  lady  of 

eighty-six  there,  it  never  will  be.    Besides !    However,  there's 

Phillips  coming  and  we  mustn't  talk.  That  child's  getting  so 
sharp  she  knows  absolutely  everything.     She's  five  next  month." 

But  there  remains  a  thoughtful  troubled  look  on  the  beautiful 
face,  which  we,  who  know  things,  know  to  mean,  "Oh,  Charley 
and  Alice — how  you  are  wasting  the  precious  hours!  And  here 
you  are,  constructing  a  new  impasse,  a  stupid  deadlock  that 
will  just  spoil  all,  and  take  away  the  last  chance  for  good!" 

Alcey  and  Phillips  got  the  citron  off  the  Madeira  cake,  between 
them,  and  Alcey  got  most.  And  Aunt  Lissy  announced  that  even- 
ing that  she  was  going  to  camp  out  for  a  bit  at  Acacia  Road,  just 
till  old  Mrs.  Verrinder  had  had  time  to  turn  round,  and  get  used 
to  things.  And  she  kissed  the  whole  family,  to  console  them  for 
her  impending  absence. 

And  thus  it  came  to  pass  that  in  the  next  chapter  we  shall  have 
to  speak  of  Alice  and  old  Mrs.  Verrinder  as  residing  temporarily 
(with  a  sort  of  firmness  in  the  temporariness)  at  Charles's  house 
in  St.  John's  Wood.  Charles  did  not  trouble  much  about  the  extra 
expense;  for,  thanks  to  Alice's  discovery  of  a  new  employment  for 
him,  he  was  making  huge  sums  of  money;  three  or  four  hundred  a 
year.  Report  said.  She  always  deals  in  round  numbers.  Anyhow 
Charles  was  quite  happy  about  his  expenses.  And  it  was  well  that 
he  should  rejoice  in  Alice  while  she  lasted,  for  it  was  just  as  like 
as  not  that  when  she  married  he  would  see  little  or  nothing  more 
of  her. 

"Little  or  nothing  more"  of  Alice!  Oh,  but  his  heart  was  sore 
to  think  of  it!  But  sufficient  unto  the  day  was  the  evil  thereof, 
and — after  all — there  was  nothing,  at  present  I 


CHAPTER  XLH 
OP  THE  Rum  OF  Charles's  art.    how  about  old  jane's  memories? 

BEST  take  her  TO  NO.  40 

It  was  near  midsummer  of  the  year  in  which  Old  Jane  was  oper- 
ated on  before  Charles's  household  could  be  said  to  have  settled 
down  to  the  course  it  intended  to  pursue.  Everybody  was  con- 
tented with  it  inside  the  family — only,  you  must  discount  some- 
thing from  the  satisfaction  of  Harley  Street,  which  had  lost  a 
great  deal  of  Alice ;  more  than  it  could  afford.  But  it  would  have 
been  worse,  "if  Mr.  Alice."  We  borrow  a  phrase  of  Charles.  As 
for  him,  if  he  had  had  to  choose  between  giving  up  Alice  (to  any 
not  impossible  he)  and  accommodating  all  Bedlam's  discharged 
patients,  he  would  have  chosen  the  latter.  And  as  for  Alice,  our 
suspicion  is,  that  though  she  felt  for  Harley  Street,  she  consoled 
herself  with  the  recollection  that  it  was  only  a  shilling  cab;  and 
that  she  really  was  determined  to  get  as  much  Mr.  Charley  as  she 
possibly  could,  until  she  (and  Peggy,  she  chose  to  think)  should 
succeed  in  their  endeavours  to  consign  Charles  to  some  uncom- 
fortable female  with  gifts,  or  exalted  motives,  or  Property — or 
something  else  Charles  would  care  nothing  about.  Provisionally, 
she  felt  divided  between  the  two  establishments,  which  she  spoke 
of  respectively  as  Harley  Street  and  Charley  Street. 

You  may  be  sure  that  the  menage  in  Charley  Street  was  the  sub- 
ject of  much  comment  and  criticism;  had  it  been  a  menagerie 
it  could  not  have  attracted  much  more  attention.  Besides,  another 
subject  at  the  same  time  kept  Charles  under  discussion  among 
his  friends:  namely,  his  extraordinary  and  unanticipated  success 
in  Literature.  Our  old  friend  Jeff,  of  whom  we  have  seen  nothing 
lately,  took  a  gloomy  view  of  the  outlook,  on  behalf  of  the  Fine 
Arts.    He  had  a  low  opinion  of  Literature. 

"'Eath'll  never  do  any  more  work  now,"  said  he,  regretfully,  to 
his  wife.  "He's  done  for !"  And  the  sensible  Dorothea,  whom  five 
children  had  assisted  to  an  expansive  maturity,  remarked  with 
some,  but  not  much,  diffidence:  "Perhaps  nobody  will  be  any  the 
worse." 

"I  don't  know,  Dolly! — I,  don't,  know,  Dolly! — No!  I  do  not 

485 


436  ALICE-rOE-SHOKT 

know  about  that.  There  was  a  Quality  in  'Eath's  work  that  marked 
the  man " 

''Didn't  you  say,  Jeffrey,  that  he  couldn't  draw;  nor  paint;  nor 
compose  ?" 

"I  did,  my  dear!  Right  you  are.  But  with  it  all  there  was  a 
Quality.  A  something  you  don't  often  meet  with.  Not  a  thing 
the  untrained  eye  can  see  right  off.  You  are  incredulous,  Mrs. 
Jerrythought." 

"No,  my  dear,  I  dare  say  it's  all  right."  But  Jeff  feels  that  the 
subject  cannot  be  left  stranded  in  this  flat  and  unsatisfactory  con- 
dition. It  has  to  be  illuminated  by  something  that  it  is  not  given 
to  normal  minds  to  attach  any  intelligible  meaning  to.  He  turns 
the  searchlight  of  a  Higher  Criticism  upon  it. 

"What  was  Wilkinson  Foster  sayin' — in  that  critique  of  the  New 
Barnet  School?  Depend  on  it  that's  the  point.  That's  the  rock 
Charley  'Eath  splits  upon,  Literary  Art,  mind  you !  It  always  ends 
in  neglect  of  Values.  Once  you  begin  that  game,  it's  all  up.  But 
Charley's  work  is  full  of  Quality."  And  Jeff,  who  is  smoking  in  a 
garden-hammock  on  his  own  lawn  at  St.  John's  Wood,  on  a  beau- 
tiful summer  evening,  a  short  time  after  Charles's  first  story  had 
such  a  prodigious  run,  and  watching  a  spirited  rally  in  a  game  of 
lawn-tennis  between  his  eldest  girl  and  a  couple  of  young  male 
appreciators,  who  have  come  on  their  bicycles  and  don't  mean  to  go, 
dedicates  a  sigh  and  a  headshake  to  the  memory  of  Charles's  ruined 
art.  The  sensible  Dorothea  gave  up  the  Fine  Arts  when  she  mar- 
wed,  and  doesn't  trouble  about  them  now.  But  her  interest  in  her 
fellow-creatures  is  strong,  and  she  always  diverts  all  conversation 
to  Humanity.  She  is  neither  impressive  nor  shrewd  of  tongue,  so 
one  wonders  that  she  always  succeeds.  But  she  does !  And  it  must 
be  something  in  the  subject.     It's  easy,  this  time. 

"Can  you  make  the  old  lady  out,  Jeffrey?" 

"No — yes — that  is,  stop  a  minute!" — Jeff  is  pitting  the  duration 
of  his  tobacco-smoke  rings  against  the  rallies  of  the  lawn-tennis, 
and  the  rings  always  beat.  "That  one's  lasted  out  a  rally,  and 
shoutin'  fifteen-love,  and  crossin'  over.    No,  I  can't  make  her  out." 

"What  did  he  tell  you?" 

"She  ain't  a  relative " 

"No.    I  know  that-    But  what  (ii J  he  tell  you  ?" 

"He  was  rather  close  about  her.  But  she's  old  Mrs.  Yerrinder, 
and  she's  had  a  long  illness.  That's  why  she's  so  rum  in  her  man- 
ner.    She  don't  seem  ill — not  for  an  old  lady  of  eighty-six." 

"Of  course  one  can  understand  why  Mr.  Heath  has  her  there; 
only  I  don't  see  the  necessity  for  it.    After  all,  Alice  is  the  same 


ALICE-FOK-SHOET  437 

as  one  of  the  family.  And  every  one  thinks  they're  uncle  and 
niece " 

"What's  all  that  got  to  do  with  the  turn  outf 

"Why  everything — don't  you  see,  Jeffrey?  Mr.  Heath  wants 
Alice  there,  and  fancies  he  ought  to  have  some  older  person  in  the 
house.    /  don't  see  why,  but  he  thinks  so " 

"Isn't  it  runnin'  it  rather  'ard  to  make  it  an  eighty-sixer?  I 
should  have  thought  forty-two — forty-three — or  fifty  for  strangers ! 
Plenty !    But,  him  a  widower  and  all !    'Ooky !" 

"But  where  did  he  get  her  from?  She  must  be  accountable, 
somehow." 

"Sister  Peggy  fished  her  up.    Or  their  friend  Dr.  Fludyer " 

"Stop!" — Mrs.  Jerrythought  points  at  her  husband's  watch- 
pocket,  while  her  eye  fixes  him  to  attention. — "That  doctor  that 
came  to  40,  years  and  ages  ago,  and  you  witnessed  a  transfer  thing 
for  him — he  was  Fludyer!    You  told  me " 

"Well— what  of  that?" 

"Why,  of  course!  It  was  about  that  poor  feUow  that  com- 
mitted suicide — you  remember  himf 

"Perfectly.    I  remember  all  about  it." 

"Well — how  slow  you  are !    What  was  his  name  ?" 

"Callender."  This  is  an  absurd  lapse  of  memory  on  Jeff's  part, 
and  his  wife  points  out  that  though  the  name  Callender  occurred 
about  the  time  of  the  suicide  in  question,  it  was  in  quite  another 
connection.  That  was  Edith  Callender,  doesn't  he  remember,  that 
was  to  have  married  Captain  Bradbury,  and  took  to  homoeopathy? 
Of  course  that  queer  artist's  name  was  Verrinder,  and  this  must 
be  his  mother,  or  his  aunt.  But  Jeff  won't  acknowledge  his  mis- 
take. 

"No — it  was  Callender,  not  Verrinder.  I  noticed  partic'larly  at 
the  time  that  it  wasn't  Verrinder.  Besides,  it  was  Captain  Brad- 
ley, not  Bradbury." 

"So  it  was.  He  was  spooney  about  Lady  Johnson.  So  were 
others."  Dorothea  nods,  with  insight.  Jeff  doesn't  disguise  the 
point. 

"So  were  others,"  he  admits.  And  Dorothea  says  nobody  wonders 
at  it,  and  he  needn't  look  so  guilty.  Then  compromise  becomes 
possible  about  the  names;  Jeff  gives  up  Callender,  in  return  for 
liis  wife  surrendering  Bradbury. 

"I  thought  her  rather  a  sweet  old  lady,"  says  she,  when  this  is 
settled.  "Only  so  queer!  I  couldn't  make  out  what  she  meant 
sometimes.  What  was  that  she  said  about  'the  poor  Queen'?  Did 
you  understand?" 


438  ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 

"No — I  couldn't  make  that  out.  Nor  what  she  was  saying  about 
the  new  theatre.  What  new  theatre?  There's  not  been  any 
theatre  burned,  neither." 

"And  about  some  shocking  murder  of  a  Member  of  Parliament. 
There  was  nothing  in  the  newspaper.  What  name  was  it  she  said  I 
Percy,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes — Percy.     I  saw  nothing  in  the  paper!" 

It  was  little  wonder  they  were  puzzled.  Por  the  "poor  Queen" 
was  Queen  Caroline,  and  the  New  Theatre  was  Drury  Lane,  and 
"Percy"  was  Spencer  Perceval.  And  they  were  all  things  of  yester- 
day to  poor  old  Jane.  She  had  not  had  time  yet  to  get  abreast 
of  the  age  she  found  herself  suddenly  landed  in,  sixty  years  after 
her  death — for  that  was  what  it  amounted  to. 

We  are  sorry  that  Mr.  and  Mrs,  Jerrythought,  of  Circus  Road, 
St.  John's  Wood,  conversed  no  further  about  the  new  inmate  at 
their  neighbour's  in  Acacia  Road.  They  went  on  to  consider  how 
far  Kit  Pope,  who  was  playing  lawn-tennis,  was  "desirable."  He 
was  desirous,  no  doubt.  Jeff  said  he  really  didn't  see  that  it  mat- 
tered what  a  young  man's  father  was  like.  And  his  wife  said  if 
they  didn't  stop  "it"  now,  it  wouldn't  be  any  good.  Did  Jeff  hear 
thaf?  He  was  calling  her  Jessie  already!  However,  these  young 
people  really  don't  come  into  the  story.  They  are  perfectly  happy 
just  now,  and  what  more  can  they  want?  And  Jessie  wasn't  six- 
teen, so  there ! 

Kit  Pope's  objectionable  father  was  very  curious  indeed  when  he 
heard  that  a  sing'ler  old  lady  Mr.  Heath  had  got  from  somewhere, 
who  had  known  No.  40  when  she  was  girl,  was  coming  to  see  the 
house.     So  was  Mr.  Chappell,  but  much  more  temperately. 

"No,"  said  the  former  to  the  latter,  in  answer  to  a  question, 
"I  can't  say  Pve  exactly  seen  the  old  party  myself.  But  I've  had 
a  sort  of  squintindicular  view  of  her  (puttin'  it  metaphorically) 
owing  to  that  young  jackanapes  of  a  son  of  mine.  He's  always 
flandering  round  after  that  little  Jessie  girl  of  Jeff's  at  Circus 
Road,  and  she's  seen  her  to  talk  to.  Then  of  course  she  tells  Kit, 
and  Kit  he  tells  Gwen,  and  Gwen  she  tells  her  mother  and  your 
faithful  servant,  Sir.  Prodoocin'  the  impression  of  a  piece  of 
'oary  antiquity — relict  of  a  bygone  earer.  You'll  be  interested,  Mr. 
Chappell,  without  bein'  enthoosiastic.  After  knowin'  you  many 
years,  Mr.  Chappell,  I  am  quorlified  to  say  that  enthusiasm  is  not 
your  gag.  Can't  say  I've  seen  her  though,  so  far!  Name  of 
Verrinder." 

"Verrinder?  Hum!  Feel  as  if  I'd  heard  the  name,  too." — And 
Mr.  Chappell,  who  was  writing  Perpendicular  lettering  on  a  large 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  439 

telegraph-tape  that  took  two  Angels  to  carry  it,  laid  down  his  pencil 
to  think  more  easily.  It  didn't  seem  to  help  him,  for  he  presently 
took  it  up  again,  with  the  remark :  "Felt  as  if  I'd  heard  the  name." 

"I  was  tryin'  to  think,  too,"  said  Mr.  Pope.  But  it  was  quite 
rfiree  minutes  before  thought,  accompanied  only  by  the  ticking  of 
the  clock  on  the  chimney-piece,  fructified.  Then  each  exclaimed 
that  he  had  "got  it."    It  was  a  brain-wave,  evidently. 

"Who  do  you  make  it  out  to  be?"  asked  Mr.  Pope. 

"Bauerstein's  pictures  he  bought,  years  ago,  at  that  sale  at 
Newington  Butts — he  was  Verrinder  I" 

"That's  the  beggar,  Sir !  As  large  as  life.  I  knew  it  was  him." 
Which  was  palpably  a  lie,  taken  literally;  but  was  a  fagon-de- 
parler  that  passed  muster,  taken  leniently.  Mr.  Chappell  did  not 
cavil,  and  his  partner  continued :  "It  connects  itself  with  the  Bones, 
to  my  mind.  But  as  to  how,  I  couldn't  say  ofF-hand.  No  'urry." 
Presently  he  seems  to  think  he  has  been  asked  a  question,  which  is 
not  the  case,  and  goes  on :  "What  Bones  ?  Why,  our  Bones,  on  the 
premises.  Whose  Bones  did  you  think  ?  We're  the  only  house  with 
any  Bones." 

The  reason  we  have  interleaved  these  fragmentary  scraps  of 
interviews,  is  our  wish  that  you  should  not  be  blind  to  the  impres- 
sion Old  Jane  produced  on  casual  visitors  at  Charley  Street.  Dur- 
ing the  first  fortnight,  when  Mrs.  Gaisford  was  still  in  evidence  in 
nurse's  costume,  she  was  obviously  an  invalid,  though  not  incapaci- 
tated. When  Mrs.  Gaisford  tore  herself  away  with  tears,  vowing 
she  would  never  have  such  a  happy  time  again,  the  old  lady  seemed 
really  on  her  way  to  as  much  health  and  strength  as  her  eighty- 
six  years  could  be  expected  to  allow.  Doctors  and  nurse  alike 
thought  that  the  careful  systematic  routine  of  the  Hospital  had 
had  a  preservative  character,  and  that  her  physique  was  really  in 
better  form  than  if  it  had  had  to  endure  the  dangers  and  exhaus- 
tions of  a  normal  life.  Mrs.  Gaisford  (whose  strained  relations 
with  her  patient  had  died  a  natural  death)  was  perfectly  right  in 
her  surmise  that  if  the  brain  recovered  she  would  have  nothing 
the  matter  with  her.  She  was  so  well,  when  the  nurse  went,  that 
she  was  much  distressed  in  her  mind  about  what  gratuity  she 
should  give  her,  and  borrowed  a  sovereign  of  Alice  (to  be  repaid 
by  her  shadowy  relatives),  which  Mrs.  Gaisford  accepted  with 
gratitude  and  promptly  brought  back  to  Alice,  who  gave  her  a  kiss 
instead. 

Morally,  she  was  sweet-tempered  and  tractable.  She  complained 
much  of  her  inability  to  use  her  hands;  though  in  truth  their 
resumption  of  vitality  was  far  more  rapid  than  could  have  heexi 


UO  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

anticipated.  Her  general  attitude  of  mind  and  feeling  seemed  to  be 
that  which  sometimes  follows  on  an  overwhelming  shock ;  an  equable 
acquiescence  in  an  existence  that  had  to  be  completed,  accepting 
slight  temporary  interests  as  they  accrued,  but  without  anything 
that  could  be  interpreted  as  joy  or  sorrow.  The  nearest  approach 
to  the  former  was  discernible  in  her  intense  love  for  Alice;  while 
the  latter  had  completely  permeated  the  whole  atmosphere  of  her 
existence — even  as  a  fog  is  uniformity  with  one  incident  only,  a 
disc  of  sun  that  is  one  spot  in  an  expanse.  Alice  was  the  sun  in 
this  case;  and,  as  was  natural,  she  grew  very  fond  of  the  poor 
old  wreck;  and  strove  always  to  bear  in  mind  that  she  must  needs 
think  of  her,  not  as  ancestral,  but  as  a  contemporary.  Her  old 
mind,  she  remembered,  was  twenty-six,  not  eighty-six. 

The  impression  produced  on  introduction  was  that  of  a  pretty, 
very  old  lady,  with  very  white  hair  and  most  picturesque  wrinkles, 
but  little  fallen  away  in  the  lower  part  of  the  face.  She  had  a 
good  deal  of  snow-white  eyebrow;  none  of  the  sternness  of  face  so 
often  associated  with  old  age — the  expression  either  negatively 
sweet  as  in  sculptured  effigies,  or  more  actively  breaking  into  what 
Charles  called  a  submissive  smile.  There  was  something  about 
her  that  made  it  most  difficult  for  him  to  think  of  her  as  having 
been  the  wife  of  that  odd  old  Life  Student  at  the  Royal  Academy. 
But  this  very  something  quite  explained  why  Verrinder  had  never 
faltered  in  his  life-long  vigil ;  why  he  had  thought  that  any  chance, 
however  small,  of  any  slightest  revival,  was  still  the  best  chance 
left  for  him  on  earth. 

The  slaves  that  we  are  of  the  matter  that  encloses  us !  Think  of 
that  one  undetected  contusion  and  all  it  meant ! 

So  long  a  time  passed  at  Charley  Street  without  any  hint  of  an 
allusion  to  the  Luttrells  and  the  story  about  Cousin  Becky  and  the 
ring,  that  both  Charles  and  Alice  began  to  feel  afraid  that  it  might 
never  revive  in  the  old  lady's  mind.  They  did  not  like  to  make 
open  attempts  to  stir  up  her  memory  and  put  her  again  upon 
narrating  it,  for  fear  that  in  the  attempt  to  recall  it  her  recollec- 
tion should  become  confused.  They  felt  that  the  more  sponta- 
neously she  returned  to  it,  the  better  the  chance  of  a  clear  and 
connected  narrative. 

"Much  better  not  fidget  her,"  said  Sir  Rupert.  "If  it  doesn't 
occur  yet  awhile  it  doesn't  the  least  follow  that  it  won't  be  as  clear 
when  it  comes.  Give  her  time.  But  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't 
suggest  it.  Why  not  take  her  on  a  visit  to  the  old  house?  Ten 
dbances  to  one  it  would  all  come  back !" 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  441 

This  was  asked  by  Sir  Eupert  on  more  than  one  occasion,  and 
the  last  time  he  asked  it  Alice,  who  was  keeping  well  in  touch 
with  Harley  Street  by  making  afternoon-tea  there  nearly  every  day, 
paused  with  the  great  medico's  second  lump  of  sugar  in  the  tongs 
to  reply:  "Because  it  is  so  awfully  grisly."  And  she  went  as  far 
as  she  dared  (for  fear  of  spilling  the  tea)  towards  acting  a  shudder. 
Peggj'  did  it  for  her,  being  free  from  tea-cups.  Then  she  enlarged 
upon  the  grisliness. 

"Just  fancy,  Dr,  Jomson!  she's  never  been  in  that  house  since 
she  married,  and  there's  the  room  her  father  painted  in,  and  she'll 
be  able  to  tell  which  her  bedroom  was,  and  where  they  sat  in  the 
evening,  and  all  sorts  of  things." 

"And  why  shouldn't  she?" 

"Isn't  he  opaque.  Mother  Peggy?  Well  then — because  I  should 
burst,  you  stupid  man.    Can't  you  see?" 

"Of  course  Alice  would  burst.  I  can  quite  see  that.  I  should, 
myself!" — It  was  Peggy  who  said  this. 

"Of  course  you  would,  darling,"  replied  her  husband,  "but  I 
thought  Alice  was  rolled  steel  plates." 

"So  I  am,  as  a  general  rule.  But  there  are  limits  even  to  rolled 
steel  plates."    Eupert  takes  up  a  brutal  attitude. 

"If  you  do  burst,  what  does  it  matter  ?"  says  he.  On  which  Alice 
says  then  she'll  burst.  "I'm  always  ready,"  she  adds,  "to  sacrifice 
myself  and  jump  into  holes,  like  Thingummybob !"  Marcus  Cur- 
tius,  possibly. 

Peggy  thought  to  herself  she  would  really  like  to  come  too,  if  the 
truth  were  told,  and  said  so.  Curiosity  is  a  powerful  incentive. 
But  Alice  ruled  Peggy  out,  affectionately. 

"Don't  you  see,  darling,  the  fewer  there  are,  the  better  for  the 
chances !    /  think  only  me  and  Mr.  Charley " 

"Very  well,  dear;  only  you  and  Mr.  Charley." 

"You'll  see  he'll  think  so  too."  For  Alice  had  no  sooner  ex- 
cluded Peggy  than  she  felt  sorry  for  her,  and  wasn't  sure.  So  she 
built  in  a  moral  support.  But  Lady  Johnson's  mind  had  wandered 
from  the  point,  and  she  was  thinking  to  herself:  "If  Alice  would 
only  drop  'Mr.  Charley'  there  might  be  a  chance !"  For  the  use  of 
this  prefix  to  her  brother's  name  was  a  constant  affirmation  and 
register  of  the  way  in  which  Alice  thought  of  herself :  she  was  still 
the  little  girl  with  the  beer-jug,  and  he  was  her  saviour  from  a 
hideous  might-have-been  that  ran  alongside  of  her  as  she  lived. 
As  long  as  she  had  this  idea  and  was  scheming  other  schemes  for 
Charles's  happiness,  and  as  long  as  he  was  nursing  his  belief  in 
his  own  nullity,  and  watching  for  a  human  perfection,  who  was  to 


442  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

claim  Alice  on  his  merits — ^why,  there  simply  was  no  chance!  If 
she  would  only  once  call  him  Charley  without  the  'Mr' ! 

But  there  was  consolation  too  in  the  assurance  with  which  Alice 
said,  "He's  sure  to  look  in  for  me,  and  you'll  see  if  he  doesn't  say 
exactly  the  same  as  I  do";  and  also  in  Charles's  voice,  when  he 
came  an  hour  later,  saying  in  the  passage  below :  "Miss  Kavanagh 
here,  Handsworth?  Is  your  Aunt  Alice-for-short  here.  Juicy?" — 
the  first  form  of  the  question  making  a  parade  of  unconcern,  the 
second  containing  an  audible  caress. 

"Yes,  Uncle  Charley,  and  she  wants  you  directly.  How  you 
scratch !  It's  settled  you're  to  take  old  Mrs.  Verrinder  to-morrow  at 
three-thirty  to  your  Studio.  To  see  your  pictures  and  to  see  all 
over  the  house.  And  she's  not  to  be  flustered  for  fear  she  shouldn't 
teil  about  her  Cousin  Becky's  first  ball." 

Charles,  as  he  went  upstairs  partly  towed  by  Miss  Lucy  the  pre- 
dominant, thought  to  himself:  "A  hundred  and  thirty  years 
ago !" 


CHAPTEE  XLIII 

OLD  jane's  visit  TO  HER  HOME  OF  SEVENTY  YEARS  AGO.  A  PEEP  INTO 
THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  WHO  THE  GHOST  WAS,  UNDER  THE  LIT- 
TLE DANCING  FIGURE.     HOW  LAVINIA  SAT  IN  THE  CHAIR  AGAIN 

As  Miss  Lucy  had  said  it,  it  was  no  use  contesting  the  point. 
When  Charles  arrived  in  the  drawing-room,  he  found  that  that 
dictatrix  was  correct  in  the  main;  only,  she  had  herself  fixed  the 
date,  which  had  not  been  spoken  of.  The  final  decision  was — 
sometime  next  week.  Peggy  would  come  and  drive  Alice  and  Mrs. 
Verrinder  down,  and  go  on  herself.  Oh  no !  she  wouldn't  come  in  I 
Now  she  thought  of  it  she  saw  Alice  was  right.  But  Juicy  might 
go — she  wasn't  like  a  grown-up  person.  And  she  was  sharp,  and 
would  do  to  recollect  everything.  Juicy  pocketed  the  aSront  to  her 
dignity  in  consideration  of  the  concession  that  accompanied  it. 

And  thus  it  was  settled,  after  the  lapse  of  a  long  lifetime,  that 

Katharine  Verrinder,  nee  ,  should  re-enter  the  house  she 

passed  her  youth  in — the  house  she  left,  more  than  sixty  years  ago, 
a  headstrong  young  girl,  probably  madly  in  love  with  her  equally 
infatuated  companion. 

Charles  and  Alice  discussed,  on  their  way  back  to  Charley  Street 
that  evening,  whether  it  would  be  best  to  tell  her  that  the  house 
had  been  identified  by  her  htisband,  when  at  work  in  the  Painting- 
School  with  Charles,  or  simply  to  take  her  to  see  his  pictures,  and 
leave  her  to  find  it  out.  If  she  did  not,  they  could  tell  after.  So 
they  decided  on  the  latter.  When  they  told  her  of  the  projected 
expedition,  she  showed  no  surprise,  taking  it  equably  as  she  did  all 
things  now.  There  was  a  little  stress  laid  on  her  readiness  to  go, 
but  both  her  hearers  imputed  it  to  a  desire  to  seem  courteously 
anxious  to  see  Charles's  pictures. 

"You  know,  I  daresay,"  she  said,  "that  my  dear  husband  was  a 
painter.     So  is  my  father." 

She  knew,  or  had  known  that  her  father  was  long  dead,  with  the 
rest  of  her  story.  But  she  was  not  able  to  maintain  her  grasp  of 
the  facts,  with  the  exception  of  the  one  that  absorbed  and  super* 
seded  all  others,  her  husband's  death.    That  was  never  absent. 

"I  used  always  to  be  in  Studios  once.  Where  did  you  say  yours 
was,  Mr.  Heath  T 

443 


444  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

"In  X Street,  not  very  far  from  Soho  Square." 

"Oh,  but  I  know!  I  ought  to  know — for  that  was  where  my 
father  lived.    At  number  seven.    What  is  your  number?" 

"Number  forty." 

"Quite  up  the  street.  But  we  might  go  to  look  at  the  outside  of 
my  father's  house.  He  is  dead — you  know  ?"  She  had  remembered 
that  she  knew  he  was  dead,  but  not  who  had  told  her.  "Perhaps 
they  would  let  us  just  look  in — the  new  people.  I  should  so  like 
my  dear  Cynthia  to  see  over  it.  My  darling  Cynthia!"  Image 
to  yourself  Alice  sitting  at  the  feet  of  an  old  lady  whom  you  at 
once  call  a  dear  old  lady,  whose  almost  transparent  hand  smooths 
over  the  mouse-coloured  hair  that  has  a  touch  of  chestnut,  and 
then  caresses  the  faintly  marked  cheek  below.  We  want  you  to  get 
rid,  as  far  as  possible,  of  the  idea  of  a  patient  in  a  hospital  ward. 
You  may  add  a  mental  portrait  of  Charles,  as  this  narrative  has 
made  you  think  of  him,  with  eyes  of  much  contentment  resting  on 
Alice  through  a  pair  of  double-lensed  spectacles — a  line  through 
the  middle.  Make  him  square  and  strong-built,  and  of  an  age  you 
might  guess  to  be  forty.  Don't  put  too  much  gray  in  his  brown 
beard.  Give  him  a  meerschaum  pipe.  You  may  chance  on  a  good 
group,  true  enough  to  nature.  We  know  we  describe  badly;  and 
shall  think  we  have  not  succeeded  at  all  in  our  description  if  it  has 
not  produced  an  impression  of  something  strange  about  the  three — 
something  that  does  not  belong  to  a  very  pretty  young  woman,  a 
normal  grandmother,  and  a  good-looking  husband  in  spectacles 
fifteen  years  her  senior,  only  that  doesn't  matter.  The  oddity  of 
it  all,  nevertheless,  should  hardly  be  within  guessing  range;  for 
(we  ask  you)  could  it  have  been  guessed? 

Alice  kissed  old  Kate's  hand,  to  cheer  her  up.  "They'll  show  us 
the  house  if  we  tell  them,"  she  says,  and  adds:  "If  they're  not 
Christians,  at  least  they're  human."  But  obviously  it  isn't 
fair  to  condemn  these  hypothetical  people  unheard,  and  they 
lapse. 

"I  daresay,  dear  Cynthia — (I  know  you're  Alice  you  know,  but 
I  like  to  call  you  Cynthia) — I  daresay  it  will  all  seem  very  strange 
to  go  back  there  now  my  father's  dead." 

"Very  strange — it  must." 

"I  wonder  if  they've  altered  the  place,  the  new  people.  If  they 
have,  I  don't  think  I  shall  like  it.  You  see,  I've  been  there  nearly 
all  my  life." 

"I  should  think,  Mrs.  Verrinder,"  Charles  says,  "that  what  will 
strike  you  most  wiU  be  the  way  the  whole  neighbourhood  has  been 
built  up." 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  445 

"Ah,  yes !  I  daresay  they've  built  all  over  those  pretty  Padding- 
ton  fields  where  we  used  to  walk — John  and  I.  I  shouldn't 
wonder." 

Alice  said  to  Charles  afterwards:  "When  she  talks  like  that  it's 
you  and  me  that  want  to  cry.  She  goes  on  quite  quietly."  And 
Charles  said:  "She  only  feels  here  provisionally,  I  suppose!"  To 
which  Alice  replied :  "Something  of  that  sort,  and  it's  not  to  last." 

When  the  carriage  called  with  Lady  Johnson  and  her  eldest 
daughter  in  it,  to  drive  Alice  and  that  odd  old  Mrs.  Verrinder  to 
No.  40  X Street,  the  old  lady  walked  downstairs  quite  by  her- 
self; and  we  suspect  (for  we  have  only  surmise  to  guide  us  about 
the  working  of  old  Kate's  mind)  that  she  only  accepted  assistance 
into  the  carriage  in  order  not  to  hurt  Lucy's  feelings,  who  offered 
it.  This  young  person  conceived  of  herself  as  in  charge  of  the 
expedition,  and  responsible  for  the  log-book.  If  she  had  been 
scheming  to  write  a  History  of  My  Own  Times  and  leave  out  noth- 
ing, she  could  not  have  been  more  attentive  and  watchful. 

She  gave  the  old  lady  a  good  deal  of  information  about  the  build- 
ings and  places  they  passed,  which  might  well  have  puzzled  a 
clearer  mind,  assigning  to  Regents  Park  and  the  Church  in  Lang- 
ham  Place  dates  anterior  to  the  Stuarts ;  whereas,  they  had  no  exist- 
ence, or  very  little,  till  Old  Jane's  had  practically  ceased.  Presently 
the  latter  closed  her  eyes,  perhaps  quite  bewildered,  and  did  not 
open  them  till  the  carriage  stopped  at  No.  40.  Then  she  looked  out 
and  said :  "I  hope  they  will  let  us  in."  Alice  said :  "But  this  is  Mr. 
Charley's  Studio — this  is  number  forty.  We'll  go  to  your  old  house 
after.  Or  shall  we  go  now?  Stop,  Hutchins!  We'll  go  on  ta 
number  seven  and  come  here  after."  For  Alice  continued  a  little 
mixed  in  her  mind  about  how  much  was  known  of  the  relations  be- 
tween No.  40  and  the  Verrinders. 

"But  this  is  our  old  house!"  said  Mrs.  Verrinder,  quite  collect- 
edly. "I  know  it  by  the  corner,  and  those  things  there."  She 
pointed  at  the  extinguishers  on  either  side  of  the  entrance.  *^ou 
know  once  there  were  no  street-lamps,  before  we  were  born,  and 
the  running  footmen  used  those  to  put  their  torches  out."  Alice 
hesitated.  Peggy  and  Miss  Lucy  looked  at  one  another.  None  was 
so  quick  to  solve  the  mystery  as  the  old  lady  herself. 

"I  see,  darling  Cynthia,"  she  said,  "they've  changed  the  numbers. 
It's  the  very  same  house.  Now  how  strange  that  does  seem!"  It 
did. 

Lady  Johnson  drove  away  to  her  Institution:  have  we  ever 
mentioned  it  ?    It  was  a  home  for  the  Children  of  Drunken  Parents, 


449  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

and  had  been  in  the  newspapers  several  times  for  interfering  with 
the  liberty  of  the  subject.  But  the  subjects'  parents  disappointed 
their  backers  by  always  coming  to  the  scratch  filthily  drunk. 
Peggy  was  driven  off,  thinking  of  the  Drunken  Parent  who  had 
been  carried  out  half-dead  between  those  extinguishers,  so  many 
years  ago  no\^;  and  how,  had  Rupert  only  chanced  (even  then) 
to  come  across  the  old  lady  who  had  just  passed  in,  there  might 
still  have  been  a  measure  of  life  left  for  her  and  her  husband,  who 
•would  not  then  have  needed  to  play  fast  and  loose  with  chloroform. 
Presently  she  got  to  the  Institution,  and  forgot  it  all  in  her  delight 
at  a  new  male  refugee  of  four  and  a  half,  who  was  being  washed 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  and  making  statements  about  which 
of  the  attendants  and  visitors  he  could  foight.  "What  very  nice 
chunky  children  inebriates  do  contrive  to  have  sometimes!"  she 
said. 

And  Katharine  Yerrinder  stood  on  the  threshold  of  the  house 
she  left  near  seventy  years  ago!  There  was  something  so  creepy 
in  the  reality  of  the  place,  the  actuality  of  the  Old  Jane  who  had 
come  out  as  Young  Kate,  that  Alice  felt  quite  sick  and  dizzy  as 
she  thought  of  it.  She  must  talk  and  ask  questions  for  relief. 
Which  was  the  dining-room  in  Kate's  time?  This  on  the  right. 
But  the  big  room  along  the  passage  was  really  the  finest  room  in 
the  house — shouldn't  we  go  in  and  see  it?  Alice  said  yes — ^but 
hadn't  we  better  do  that  when  Mr.  Charley  had  given  us  a  cup  of 
tea  upstairs  in  the  Studio?  Yes — suppose  he  did — and  then  we 
could  come  down  after. 

Mrs.  Verrinder  did  not  seem  much  impressed  with  Charles's 
pictures,  possibly  not  so  much  because  they  were  not  good  pictures, 
as  because  they  were  not  of  any  school  she  had  been  familiar  with 
in  her  youth.  She  constantly  lost  sight  of  what  she  would  per- 
ceive at  once  after  a  moment's  thought,  simply  because  it  was  not 
humanly  possibly  to  be  always  on  the  watch  for  contingencies 
evolved  by  a  negative,  for  that  was  what  the  blank  in  her  life  pre- 
sented to  her.  It  was  not  like  keeping  a  term  of  imprisonment  in 
mind.  That  would  have  been  a  tangible  fact,  however  monotonous 
and  however  difficult  to  assign  its  duration.  She  had  stopped 
suddenly  and  begun  again  like  a  clodx,  and  the  pause  was  mere 
vacuum.  So  when  she  said  to  Charles  that  his  work  was  a  little 
like  young  Mr.  Haydon's,  she  spoke  as  taking  it  for  granted  that 
Mr.  Haydon  might  still  be  at  work  in  the  next  street,  for  anything 
that  appeared  to  the  contrary.  When  Charles  said:  "Benjamin 
Robert  Haydon  ?"  as  a  question,  she  rephed :  "I  think  his  name  is 
Benjamin."    They  allowed  things  of  this  sort  to  pass,  as  much  as 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  U1 

possible;  there  was  no  object  in  constantly  reminding  her  of  the 
terms  she  had  to  live  on. 

The  interest  revived  seemed  to  act  more  as  a  stimulant  to  vitality 
than  as  a  source  of  pain,  and  this  was  a  great  relief  to  Alice.  She 
soon  saw  that  anji:hing  like  a  break-down  on  the  old  lady's  part 
•was  not  to  be  apprehended,  and  even  did  not  hesitate  to  suggest  an 
inspection  of  the  rooms  upstairs.  Charles  said  they  were  full  of 
work-people,  doing  stained  glass.  This  rather  excited  her  curiosity, 
and  the  ascent  was  made.  Some  young  men  who  were  painting 
quarries  in  one  upper  room  were  rather  astonished  when  a  pictur- 
esque old  white-headed  person  looked  in  and  said:  "This  is  my 
bedroom." 

She  told,  fragmentarily,  how  the  Luttrell  family  to  whom  the 
house  had  belonged  at  the  time  it  was  built  had  squandered,  gam- 
bled away,  or  sold,  all  their  property;  until  at  last  what  was  left 
of  it,  chiefly  this  house  and  some  farms  in  Yorkshire,  was  the  sole 
property  of  the  only  survivor  of  the  family,  by  name  Miss  Rebecca 
Luttrell,  who  had  let  the  house  to  her  father.  "We  were  very 
intimate  with  her,  John  and  me,"  she  said,  "and  she  tried  to  make 
it  up  with  my  father.  But,  ah,  dear  me !  how  obstinate  he  was !" — 
*'She,"  of  course,  was  Cjmthia's  "cousin  Becky." 

They  were  coming  slowly  down  from  the  attics,  and  passing  the 
room  the  Miss  Prynnes  had  slept  in,  when  Mrs.  Verrinder  stopped 
and  said:  "We  used  always  to  call  this  room  Aunt  Esther's  room. 
She  was  Mrs.  Greville  Kaimes,  whose  husband  was  killed  in  a  duel. 
It  made  a  great  talk — but  I  told  you  all  this  before  i" — she  stopped 
suddenly.     "Only  I  can't  recollect  when." 

"It  was  at  the  Hospital,  dear  Kate.  When  you  were  in  such  pain 
with  your  head.    No  wonder  you  don't  recollect !" 

"I  remember — I  remember,  darling  Cynthia."  She  went  slowly 
down  the  stairs,  saying  at  intervals,  "I  remember.  Yes,  in  the 
'Ospital."  For  she  always  said  "'Ospital,"  as  we  daresay  you  have 
noticed  many  old  ladies  do. 

When  they  got  back  to  the  Studio,  she  sat  down  to  rest,  but 
seemed  marvellously  little  fatigued — marvellously  to  Alice  and 
Charles,  for  they  could  not  help  imagining  that  the  long  abey- 
ance or  semi-extinction  of  the  system  must  have  involved  decay. 
It  was  an  assumption ;  all  the  medical  authorities  took  the  opposite 
view,  and  inclined  to  the  belief  that  if  she  was  not  already  stronger 
than  she  would  have  been  in  a  normal  life,  she  would  ultimately 
become  so.  But,  of  course,  there  was  nothing  in  itself  extraordi- 
nary in  an  old  woman  of  eighty-six  walking  upstairs,  and  return- 
ing, and  talking  aU  the  while. 


448  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

"My  head  achea  a  little,  but  not  to  hurt,"  she  said  when  they 
had  settled  down.  "Yes,  that's  right,  put  a  cushion  behind  my 
head."  She  sat  in  the  armchair  that  has  appeared  once  or  twice 
in  this  story,  with  her  eyes  closed,  seeming  to  like  talking. 

" Wliat  was  it  made  me  apeak  about  the  duel  ?" 

"You  thought  I  was  Cynthia  Luttrell,  dear,  you  know!"  Alice 
as  she  said  this  felt  terribly  responsible  lest  she  should  break  the 
thread  of  memory.  "Then  you  began  to  tell  me  how  much  the  real 
Cynthia's  cousin  Becky  had  talked,  and  the  strange  story  she 
had  told." 

"The  real  Cynthia's  cousin?     And  all  the  while  you  are ?" 

She  paused  with  her  delicate  old  hand  pressed  across  her  eyes,  to 
shut  out  the  world  and  let  her  think.  Alice  said:  "And  all  the 
while  I  was  Alice  Kavanagh.  I'll  close  this  shutter;  then  it  won't 
glare."  She  did  so;  while  the  old  lady  murmured:  "Alice  Kava- 
nagh— Alice  Kavanagh — I  can't  make  it  out  now."  Alice,  remem- 
bering that  she  had  once  before  got  into  confusion  with  her  name, 
tried  to  turn  her  from  it. 

"And  all  the  while  /  was  Alice  Kavanagh.  But  you  said  you 
would  tell  about  Cousin  Becky  another  time." 

"So  I  did,  dear  Cynthia.  Only  it's  all  very  odd!  But  never 
mind!  Come  and  sit  down  here  and  touch  me,  and  I'll  tell  it  all 
now  as  I  recollect  it.    Dear  me,  how  clear  it  does  all  come  back!" 

We  must  caution  you  that  the  story  as  she  told  it  was  not  con- 
secutive like  the  following.  But  it  would  be  purposeless  to  record 
pauses  and  breaks  that  you  can  imagine,  perhaps  better  than  we 
can  tell  them. 

"Old  Becky !  Now  isn't  it  strange  to  think,  dear,  that  my  father 
painted  her  portrait  in  this  very  room,  and  I  sat  here,  just  a  mere 
girl — ^wanting  really  to  go  away  to  John  Verrinder,  who  was  at 
work  in  the  big  room  downstairs.  We  called  it  the  gallery.  Mr. 
Haydon  wanted  to  put  in  a  skylight,  and  paint  a  picture  exactly  the 
size  of  the  wall.  .  .  .  And  they  made  me  mimic  you  doing  your 
hair,  to  amuse  them.  You  know  what  I  mean,  darling;  I  mean 
mimic  the  real  Cynthia — ah,  yes! — dead  and  gone  long  now,  poor 
child! — perhaps.  .  .  . 

"I  remember  it  all  quite  clearly,  like  yesterday.  Something  set 
Becky  off  telling  about  her  great-uncle's  queer  will.  I  hope  I  shall 
remember  this  part  all  right.  But  it's  difficult!  I  think  though 
it  was  something  like  this: — 

"Old  Sir  Cramer  left  the  Vixencroft  property — it  was  only  a 
small  farm  or  two  in  Yorkshire,  and  a  lot  of  moorland,  to  his 
wife  for  life;  and  afterwards  to  any  female  descendant  of  his  that 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  449 

was  in  possession  of  a  certain  family  diamond  after  his  widow's 
death.  If  it  was  not  in  possession  of  a  female  descendant,  either 
legitimate  or  illegitimate,  that  didn't  matter,  it  was  to  go  to  the 
School,  at  Blaydon,  where  he  was  educated.  .  .  . 

"You  may  fancy,  dear,  how  all  the  females  of  the  family  longed 
to  get  possession  of  that  diamond,  because  though  Vixencroft  was 
small,  still  it  was  landed  property,  and  meant  a  safe  income  of 
some  two  hundred  a  year — not  bad,  you  know !  When  the  old  man 
was  on  his  deathbed,  the  son,  the  Sir  Cramer  who  was  your 
cousin  Becky's  uncle,  persuaded  him  to  have  the  diamond  placed 
in  a  ring  with  a  lot  of  other  stones;  and  he  himself  arranged  the 
order  of  the  stones.  He  told  his  father  if  he  did  not  do  this, 
there  would  be  a  dispute  about  the  identity  of  the  diamond.  Of 
course,  he  was  right.  But  where  he  was  such  a  cunning  fox  was 
that  he  arranged  the  stones  so  that  the  initials  made  his  wife's 
name.  .  .  . 

"The  old  man  had  absolute  faith  in  his  son,  and  as  he  felt  him- 
self failing,  shifted  all  matters  more  and  more  into  his  hands. 
He  left  all  the  property  that  was  not  entailed  to  his  widow  uncon- 
ditionally. But  (so  Becky  thought)  he  must  have  had  some  un- 
easiness about  whether  some  previous  woman  wasn't  really  his 
wife,  who  might  have  walked  in  and  made  some  legal  trouble. 
Anyhow,  he  seemed  to  have  an  idea  that  he  could  secure  his  daugh- 
ter's inheriting  Vixencroft  by  this  expedient  about  the  ring.  When 
his  widow  died,  which  was  not  so  very  long  after  he  did,  she  had 
never  given  the  ring  to  Esther  Kaimes — which  is  what  Becky  sup- 
posed he  meant  her  to  do — and  the  ring  wasn't  to  be  found.  You 
understand  that  Esther  was  Sir  Cramer's  half-sister,  and  very 
much  younger  than  he.  It  was  her  mother's  marriage-lines  that 
might  have  been  flawed,  not  his." 

Some  difficulty  in  clearing  this  up  caused  delay  in  the  story 
here.  To  spare  the  teller,  Charles  suggested  the  point  should  be 
waived.  It  wasn't  necessary  to  understand  all  the  motives  for  a 
crazy  clause  in  a  will.  There  had  been  thousands  of  wills  crazier 
than  this.  So  Old  Jane  continued,  occasionally  mimicking  the 
manner  of  the  original  teller  of  the  story,  perhaps  involuntarily. 
Evidently  it  was  all  very  vivid  to  her. 

"Well!  Esther  Kaimes  (she  was  Greville  Kaimes's  wife)  sus- 
pected her  brother  of  having  appropriated  the  ring  and  that  it  was 
really  the  one  on  his  wife's  finger.  The  order  of  the  stones  was 
named  to  identify  it,  in  the  Will.  But  it  did  not  seem  to  tally 
with  this  ring,  which  certainly  must  have  been  set  especially  for 
Lady  Luttrell.    Its  initials  made  her  name,  you  seel" 


450  ALICE-EOR-SHOET 

"My  ring  is  like  that,"  said  Alice,  but  Charles  contrived  to  hint 
silence.  Miss  Lucy  sat  absorbing  the  story  with  almost  savage 
intensity. 

"Oh,  that's  funny!  Well — but  I  must  be  fatiguing  you  .  .  . 
Well  then !  I'll  go  on.  Lady  Luttrell  never  would  show  the  whole 
ring  together,  and  there  was  some  hitch  about  one  of  the  initials. 
She  always  managed  to  baffle  attempts  to  count  the  stones  fairly. 
But  Esther  felt  sure  it  was  the  ring,  because  of  the  splendid  dia- 
mond, and  that  her  brother,  whom  she  hated,  had  really  stolen  it  in 
his  father's  lifetime.  Becky  supposed  that  her  aunt,  who  was  very 
vain,  had  persuaded  him  to  let  her  wear  it — or  perhaps  he  thought 
it  really  was  safest  so,  as  no  one  could  possibly  suspect  when  it 
was  shown  so  publicly.  Anyhow  (so  Becky  thought),  Esther 
Kaimes  must  have  made  up  her  mind  to  attack  her  sister-in-law 
about  it  the  first  time  they  were  together  with  a  lot  of  people. 

"That  was  the  bit  of  the  story  that  excited  me  and  John  so. 
Because  old  Becky  was  an  eye-witness  and  now  it's  over  seventy 
years  ago!  Just  fancy!  One  almost  shudders  to  think  of  it."  A 
thought  passed  through  Alice's  mind  equivalent  to: — If  this  old 
lady  is  shuddering  to  think  of  it — (being  herself,  so  to  speak,  sixty 
years  ago) — what  must  /  be  now,  nearly  twice  as  far  on  from  the 
event?  It  was  not  an  idea  that  could  be  formulated,  and  it  dis- 
solved.    Old  Jane  went  on  after  a  moment's  pause. 

"It  was  like  this.  Becky  was  a  girl  of  sixteen  and  was  to  come  out 
at  a  grand  ball  at  the  Cramer  Luttrells',  at  our  old  house,  you  know, 

in  X Street.  ...     To  be  sure,  darling  Cynthia,  I  had  quite 

forgotten — this  house,  of  course.  Ah,  dear  I  .  .  .  Well !  Becky  was 
to  come  out — and  she  danced  all  the  evening,  minuets  and  things; 
not  this  horrid  new  waltzing — there  was  nothing  then  like  it !  And 
there  was  a  young  gentleman  she  danced  a  great  deal  with,  and  he 
told  her  on  the  stairs  he  should  dream  about  her  for  weeks,  and  she 
never  saw  him  again!  Do  you  know  I  almost  cried,  with  her  sit- 
ting there  as  single  as  you  are  yourself,  my  dear,  and  looking  like 
an  old  marquise!  .  .  .  John  had  to  keep  her  to  the  point,  or  I 
believe  she  would  have  gone  on  talking  till  now  about  that  young 
man — she  told  us  who  he  was,  and  I've  forgotten — a  nephew  of 
Sir  Richard  Steele's,  I  think.  .  .  . 

"Where  was  I?  Oh,  your  cousin  Becky!  Well,  it  was  near  the 
end  of  the  ball,  and  she  could  see  daylight  coming  through  the 
little  skylight  in  the  ceiling,  when  Esther  Kaimes — she  called  her 
'Mistress  Esther  Kaimes';  wasn't  it  funny? — suddenly  cried  out: 
*A  wager — a  wager!  His  Lordship  wagers  a  hundred  guineas  that 
no  one  in  thia  room  hath  a  ring  showing  ten  sorts  of  stone,  one 


ALICE-FOK-SHOET  451 

several  stone  to  each  setting.'  And  then  Becky  saw  Lady  Lut- 
trell,  her  aunt,  close  her  hand  tightly,  and  thrust  it  in  the  bosom 
of  her  dress.  But  it  was  Lord  Ferrars  of  Toft,  a  great  man  at 
the  Court,  who  had  laid  the  wager,  and  every  lady  in  the  room  had 
to  show  her  ring — it  could  not  be  avoided.  Becky  said  she  saw  Sir 
Cramer  scowling  at  his  sister — he  had  an  evil  face,  and  was  a  man 
of  ungovernable  temper — an  evil  man  who  had  killed  many  an 
opponent  in  duels;  for  he  was  one  of  the  best  swordsmen  of  his 
time.  But  for  all  his  anger,  the  counting  of  the  jewels  on  each 
lady's  finger  went  on,  till  it  came  to  his  wife.  Then  he  himself 
drew  her  ring  off,  and  held  it  up,  saying  to  Lord  Ferrars :  'See  you, 
my  Lord !  I  will  not  allow  this  ring  out  of  my  possession,  even  to 
your  Lordship.  But  I  will  count  over  the  stones,  that  you  shall 
see !'  And  he  counted  round  them,  clearly  showing  thirteen  stones, 
and  three  occurred  twice,  so  that  the  ring  really  had  ten  stones. 
But  (and,  my  dear,  I  am  trying  to  give  old  Becky's  own  words  the 
best  I  can — no !  it  doesn't  hurt  my  head)  Lord  Ferrars,  before  he 
would  pay  over  his  hundred  pounds,  would  have  these  stones  named, 
so  he  should  know  that  each  one  was  truly  a  precious  stone  and 
no  counterfeit.  And  there  was  one  which  stood  for  an  /  in  the 
name,  and  my  Lord  would  have  it  this  was  but  a  bit  of  ivory  and 
no  precious  stone  at  all !" 

"If  I  can  only  keep  my  head !"  thought  Alice  to  herself.  There 
was  the  very  ring  on  her  finger!  How  doubt  it?  But  the  trouble 
was,  to  keep  speculation  in  abeyance  and  secure  the  whole  story. 
A  false  step — a  wrong  word — ^might  spoil  it  all.  Still,  the  old 
lady  had  warmed  to  the  narrative,  and  weak  as  her  voice  was,  she 
showed  no  immediate  signs  of  collapse.  She  went  on,  giving  the 
impression  that  she  was  mimicking,  cleverly,  but  in  a  weak  voice, 
the  speech  and  accent  of  the  original  narrator, 

"Then  Mistress  Kaimes  laughed  out  loud  before  them  all :  'Your 
Lordship  is  right!'  she  cried  out  so  that  all  could  hear,  'and  none 
should  know  it  better  than  I,  for  that  ring  is  my  mother's,  and 
none  of  Phyllis's;  for  all  my  brother  has  set  the  stones  so  that  it 
shall  seem  hers  alone.'  Then  she  told  out  the  whole  story  as  she 
guessed  it,  shrewdly  enough;  she  was  a  voluble  wench,  and  full  of 
malice  against  her  brother.  He  let  her  finish,  and  then  said :  'This 
is  a  fine  tale  for  the  small  hours  of  the  morning !  I  will  be  account- 
able for  all  that  relates  to  my  father's  property  and  his  devisings  to 
whoever  has  a  right  to  call  me  in  question,  but  in  the  right  time 
and  place.  I  know  well  how  to  answer  any  man  who  does  so,  who 
has  no  such  right.'  But  his  Lordship  cried  out:  'Peace!  peace!  let's 
have  no  bloodshed  over  a  light  wager,  to  amuse  a  lady.'    But  he 


452  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

did  not  catch  that  a  family  feud  was  in  it,  and  thought  only  of 
the  ring.  'Let  me  but  look  at  it  in  my  own  hands,'  says  he,  'and 
if  the  two  emeralds,  or  two  sapphires,  are  of  two  shades,  they 
shall  count  as  separate  stones,  and  Mistress  Kaimes  shall  have 
the  hundred.'  Then  Sir  Cramer,  keeping  close  to  hand,  be  sure! 
let  him  handle  the  ring.  But  just  in  that  moment  there  came  a 
great  riot  from  the  card -room  above  where  Mr.  Greville  Kaimes, 
Esther's  husband,  was  at  quadrille  with  others,  and  play  had  run 
high;  and  then  angry  altercation  on  the  stairs.  Sir  Cramer  would 
snatch  back  the  ring,  but  his  Lordship  held  to  it,  and  by  a  chance 
each  relinquished  it  to  the  other,  at  the  same  moment,  and  it  fell, 
Becky  was  close  and  saw  all  that  happened." 

This  had  been  a  long  spell  of  narrative,  with  only  trifling  inter- 
ruptions omitted,  and  Alice  begged  the  speaker  to  rest.  "I  want 
to  get  it  all  told,"  said  she.  "But  give  me  some  tea."  After  a  few 
sips,  she  resumed. 

"Your  cousin  remembered  it  all  so  clearly — ^how  she  saw  Lady 
Luttrell  standing  just  under  the  little  figure  dancing  on  the  wall  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  and  how  when  the  ring  fell,  she  saw  Mrs. 
Kaimes  step  quickly  to  the  place  and  stoop,  and  then  say:  *I 
thought  it  was  that!'  and  make  believe  she  had  mistaken  a  mark  on 
the  wall.  But  Becky  was  certain  she  had  picked  up  the  ring,  and 
when  none  could  find  it  elsewhere,  she  told  her  aunt.  Lady  Lut- 
trell, she  thought  so  for  a  surety. 

"  'But,  oh,'  said  old  Becky — and,  my  dears,  I  can't  tell  you  how 
strange  it  was  to  sit  there  and  hear  that  old,  old  lady  talking  about 
it  as  if  it  was  all  yesterday — just  think  of  it — seventy  years  ago ! — 
'But,  oh !'  she  said,  'I  was  frightened  and  dumb,  as  you  may  guess, 
with  terror  when  I  heard  the  shouting  and  the  oaths  upon  the 
stairs,  and  the  anger  of  the  gentlemen  in  their  drink,  and  then  a 
hush  for  a  moment  with  a  sound  of  steel  in  it — for  swords  were 
drawn,  even  in  the  house  itself.' 

"But  no  blood  was  shed  then,  for  when  that  sound  came.  Sir 
Cramer,  who  was  by  the  door,  shouted  aloud :  'Let  no  one  leave  this 
room.  That  ring  is  on  my  Lady's  finger  again  before  any  one 
leaves  this  room.'  And  then  he  threw  open  the  door,  and  as  he  went 
out  I  heard  the  clash  grow  louder,  and  the  door  close  upon  it,  and 
then  it  stopped  and  there  was  only  Sir  Cramer's  voice  saying: 
'Put  them  up,  gentlemen,  put  them  up!  If  you  will  meet,  the 
Park  is  near  enough  to  hand.'  Why  we  heard  was  that  the  other 
door  was  still  open,  and  through  it  my  Aunt  Esther  slipped  out, 
bearing,  I  had  little  doubt,  the  ring." 

Keep  well  in  mind  that  all  this  was  delivered  by  Old  Jane  as  a 


ALICE-rOK-SHORT  453 

verbatim  report  of  the  narrator's  words.  Her  hearers  could  dis- 
tinguish this  clearly;  so  marked  was  the  old  lady's  dramatic  power 
— she  was  literally  playing  the  part  of  old  Becky. 

"Then  back  comes  Sir  Cramer,  fuming  mightily,  for  he  was 
none  the  calmer  for  this  encounter  in  the  passage.  'They  would 
not  stand  me  down,'  says  he  to  his  Lordship.  'I  have  sent  them  to 
make  a  finish  in  the  Park,'  and  Oh!  my  dears!  how  my  blood  ran 
cold,  me — a  young  girl !  Then  my  aunt  must  speak  a  minute  with 
Sir  Cramer — and  then  she  points  to  where  Aunt  Esther  had  gone 
out.  For,  my  dears,  I  had  spoken  a  word  in  her  ear.  And  off  goes 
Sir  Cramer  after  her,  like  mad. 

"  'There  will  be  bloodshed  over  this,  Lady  Luttrell,"  says  his 
Lordship.  And  then  all  the  guests  hurried  off,  and  there  was  call- 
ing for  carriages  in  great  confusion.  But  for  me,  I  ran  for  my 
room  and  held  my  ears  in  my  pillow,  to  hear  no  more,  or  as  little 
as  might  be." 

Old  Jane  stopped  short,  and  so  entirely  had  her  mimetic  power 
(subdued,  of  course,  by  feebleness,  but  entirely  true  to  art)  carried 
her  hearers  with  her,  that  it  almost  seemed  to  them  as  though  they 
really  heard  the  narrative  of  long  ago  pause  and  vanish  into  the 
past.  It  is  useless  for  us  to  try  to  make  this  part  of  our  tale  seem 
probable,  for  nothing  analogous  to  it  comes  into  common  life.  But 
reason  from  like  to  like.  Picture  to  yourself  the  best  actor  you 
know,  retelling  a  tale  of  his  grandfather's,  heard  in  his  child- 
hood; and  then  throw  in  the  fact  that  all  that  Old  Jane  told  she 
felt  she  had  heard  almost  yesterday,  and  you  may  be  ready  to  admit 
that  we  may  have  reported  this  entirely  exceptional  narrative  with- 
out exaggeration. 

Alice  and  Charles  were  not  a  little  alarmed  about  their  old 
charge.  She  was  shaking  a  good  deal  from  the  excitement;  and 
considering  her  fragile  appearance,  and  all  the  circumstances  of 
the  case,  we  must  admit  it  was  rather  terrifying.  She  had  not 
talked  so  much,  all  told,  since  her  revival. 

"Let  me  alone,"  she  said,  almost  inaudibly,  "I  shall  come  all  to 
rights  if  I  lie  quiet."  Charles  recollected  something  opportunely. 
^'There's  a  bottle  of  the  dear  old  Governor's  precious  old  port," 
said  he,  "in  the  bottom  of  the  cupboard  here — been  here  for  ages !" 
Out  it  came  and  was  uncorked  in  a  twinkling.  The  old  lady  did 
not  protest  against  it  at  all.  "Oh,  no !  I  like  port,"  said  she.  And 
Charles  and  Alice  and  Lucy  sat  quietly  by  while  the  magic  of 
the  nectar  worked.  Presently  Old  Jane  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
spoke. 

"Yes!  I'm  glad  of  that.    Now  I  shall  be  able  to  go  and  see  the 


454  ALICE-rOK-SHORT 

old  ballroom,  where  it  all  happened.  Only  think  what  a  time  ago 
it  must  be,  by  now !" 

As  they  went  down,  a  vision  and  an  echo  passed  through  Alice's 
mind.  A  vision  of  the  dazzling  crowd  in  turmoil  and  confusion  on 
the  stairs — of  tie-wigs  and  long-skirted  coats  magnificent  with 
gold  and  silver  lace — of  long-lappeted  waistcoats — of  jewelled  hilts 
of  real  rapiers,  no  mere  court  swords,  but  deadly  implements  of 
death — of  knee-breeches,  coloured  silk  stockings,  shoes  resplendent 
with  buckles — faces  flushed  with  drinli!  An  echo  of  loud  accusa- 
tion, of  licentious  speech  and  furious  oath,  of  strong  lungs  over- 
bearing the  voice  of  the  peacemaker,  scarcely  heard  in  the  chaotic 
din;  and  then  when  they  reached  the  ballroom,  now  Herr  Bauer- 
stein's  picture  gallery,  another  vision  of  the  still  more  dazzling 
throng  of  dancers — of  tall  toupees  and  powder  and  patches — of 
flashing  diamonds  and  painted  fans — of  wide-spread  skirts  and 
high-heeled  shoes.  Another  echo;  of  women's  voices  and  laughter; 
of  wit  and  repartee  not  altogether  unstimulated  by  drink,  of  the 
music  of  Bach  and  Kameau.  It  was  all  gone  now,  and  Herr  Bauer- 
stein  was  having  a  row  with  a  picture-frame  maker. 

"I  shall  not  pay  you  one  penny.    It  was  a  fine  old  Italian  frame, 

and  it  is  ruined.    Before  I  pay  you  one  penny  I  will  see  you . 

Ah,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Heath,  but  it  is  trying  to  have  a  fine 
old  frame  ruined  with  a  bad  gold." 

The  old  lady  was  looking  wistfully  round  at  the  room.  "Oh  dear !" 
said  she,  "they  have  altered  it  so.  All  the  figures  have  gone  off 
the  walls,  and  the  ceiling  is  all  changed.  But  the  chimney  is  the 
same,  with  the  wreaths  on  it.  And  the  fireplace — and  I  remember 
the  two  doors,  with  the  rounds  over  the  top.  And  where  John 
Verrinder  used  to  work  to  get  the  best  of  the  light." 

Alice  noticed  how,  when  she  spoke  of  her  husband  at  this  date, 
she  always  called  him  John  Verrinder.  It  was  the  way  she  had 
thought  and  spoken  of  him  as  her  father's  assistant.  She  took  no 
notice  of  the  numerous  pictures,  and  crossed  over  to  the  place 
where  Terpsichore  had  been. 

"There  was  a  little  dancing  figure  up  there,"  she  said, 
"and  it  was  here  old  Becky  said  she  saw  her  aunt  pick  up  the 
ring." 

Mr.  Bauerstein  was  interested  in  this:  "I  do  not  know  of  any 
ring,"  he  said.  "No  one  has  picked  up  a  ring.  I  should  have  told 
Mr.  Pope,  or  Mrs.  Corrigan."  Charles  explained.  "This  lady,  Mrs. 
Verrinder,  lived  in  the  house  a  good  many  years  ago."  This  was 
enough  for  Mr.  Bauerstein  to  know,  he  said,  and  he  waved  himself 
out  of  his  intrusion  with  two  fat  hands  outspread.    But  he  re- 


ALICE-FOK-SHOKT  455 

mained  on,  subject  to  this  correction,  and  observed,  interestedly. 
Old  Jane  continued: 

"And  then  she  went  out  at  that  door."  She  turned  round  with 
a  revival  on  her  of  her  recollection  of  old  Becky^s  telling.  'TTou 
know,  we  almost  felt,  John  and  I,  that  we  could  see  it.  She  showed 
us,  against  the  folded  screen,  just  how  she  saw  Mrs.  Kaimes  stoop 
and  pick  it  up  where  it  had  rolled  against  the  wall.  It  would  have 
been  just  here."  It  was  then  that  Charles  suddenly  remembered 
the  person  that  he  fancied  he  saw  in  that  very  place,  who  stooped 
down  to  pick  up  his  spectacles  for  him,  and  then  vanished  myste- 
riously. It  was  so  odd,  that  he  had  to  make  up  his  mind,  provi- 
sionally, that  he  didn't  really  recollect  it,  as  a  safeguard  against 
ghost-concession.  It  was  long  enough  ago  for  that.  But  it  got 
still  worse  when  Old  Jane  continued :  "Miss  Luttrell  said  her  aunt 
had  an  immense  powdered  toupee,  like  they  used  to  wear  at  dress- 
balls,  and  she  saw  it  bob  as  she  stooped,  and  she  was  afraid  it  would 
fall  forward.  She  showed  us  exactly.  And  it  was  just  here  the 
little  dancing  figure  was  on  the  wall." 

Charles  felt  quite  uncomfortable  as  the  old  lady  rose  up  from  a 
half -indication  of  the  way  old  Becky  had  shown  them  exactly.  But 
give  him  time!  He  would  find  correct  attitudes  of  mind  enough, 
if  he  only  had  time.  As  for  his  suddenly  recollecting  a  misgiving 
about  that  woman's  hair,  or  hat,  coming  off,  didn't  that  show 
now  how  fanciful  one  was,  and  how  little  one  coidd  trust  one's 
etcetera  ? 

Alice,  please  observe,  had  the  vaguest  knowledge,  gathered  child- 
wise,  of  this  incident,  which  was  talked  of  at  the  time,  but  not 
fostered  and  encouraged  later.  It  was  sixteen  years  ago,  and  she 
was  a  babe  and  suckling. 

Mr.  Bauerstein  spoke  to  Charles  under  his  breath,  and  asked  him 
if  Mrs.  Verrinder  was  the  mother  of  the  gentleman  whose  pictures 
he  bought.  No !  she  was  his  widow.  Of  course  he  wouldn't  tallc 
about  him  to  her.  Of  course  not,  but  there  was  a  picture  with  a 
name  on  the  back  he  had  just  heard  Mrs.  Verrinder  mention.  It 
was  in  behind  here,  and  he  would  get  it  out. 

Alice  explained  to  Old  Jane,  who  seemed  pleased.  But  she  also 
seemed  embarrassed  by  whatever  forced  home  to  her  mind  that 
Alice  was  not  Cynthia  Luttrell.  She  wanted  her  to  be  as  much 
Cynthia  as  possible — not  to  be  disfranchised.  Still  it  would  be 
interesting  to  see  if  there  was  really  any  likeness.  Her  father 
painted  Cynthia  three  times.  She  wondered  which  it  was.  Much 
the  best  was  the  round  head  and  shoulders  in  a  square  frame.  Oh, 
dear!  how  strange  it  all  was! 


456  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

Plerr  Bauerstein  emerged  from  a  contest  with  canvases,  bearing 
what  was  manifestly  the  round  Cynthia  in  the  square  frame.  He 
held  it  out — it  was  not  very  large — at  arm's  length.  He  looked  up 
at  Alice.  It  was,  he  said  in  German,  not  unlike  the  Friiulein. 
It  was  not ;  in  fact,  it  was  quite  like  enough  to  warrant  Old  Jane's 
first  confusion  of  identity — not  an  astonishing  likeness — a  sort 
of  family  likeness. 

The  old  lady  herself  was  pleased  that  this  should  be  so :  she  stood 
justified  in  her  own  eyes.  But  what  troubled  her  greatly  was  that 
the  picture  had  got  so  black.  Young  Mr.  Mulready  always  told 
John  Verrinder  her  father's  pictures  would  get  black  if  he  used 
so  much  Megilp.  But,  oh  dear !  this  was  terrible — in  such  a  short 
time!  She  had  forgotten  again — ^but  they  did  not  remind  her. 
And  at  this  moment  Lady  Johnson  appeared,  having  called  for 
them  in  the  carriage,  and  been  hunting  for  them  upstairs  for  hours. 
Old  Jane  was  beginning  to  give  in ;  so  it  was  just  as  well !  There 
was  no  room  for  Charles  in  the  carriage.  So  he  saw  them  off  and 
went  back  into  the  house. 

He  went  upstairs  to  finish  a  pipe  and  think  it  over.  And  he 
sat  and  thought  in  the  dying  light  of  the  late  afternoon. 

It  was  all  so  strange — so  mercilessly  strange,  was  how  he  thoiight 
of  it.  The  chance  that  brought  him  across  old  Verrinder,  in  his 
studentship.  The  strange  renewal  of  his  memory  of  him — almost 
faded — ^by  the  slight  chance  of  his  brother-in-law's  attention  being 
caught  by  Old  Jane,  in  a  passing  visit  to  Dr.  Fludyer,  at  the 
Asylum.  The  almost  miraculous  resuscitation;  and  last  and 
strangest,  this  thread — one  might  almost  say  this  cable,  so  strong 
was  it — of  tradition  and  its  vivid  drama  of  a  hundred  and  thirty 
years  ago — of  the  days  of  Watteau  and  Lancret — almost  the  days 
when  Handel  was  writing  to  the  order  of  Queen  Anne — when  Sir 
Godfrey  Kneller  was  but  just  dead  and  Oliver  Goldsmith  but  just 
bom.  A  pity,  was  it  not,  that  this  message  handed  down  through 
the  ages,  all  but  lost  a  thousand  times,  and  only  recovered  by  a 
chance,  had  no  better  tale  to  tell  than  one  of  a  scoundrel  and  a 
thief,  a  betrayal  of  a  father's  trust,  a  brutal  riot  of  drunken  prof- 
ligates and  fools.  "It  was  very  Queen  Anne,"  thought  Charles,  as 
he  sat  and  smoked  in  the  twilight.  "I  suppose  Jeff  will  be  delighted 
with  his  protegee." 

That  brought  back  the  memory  of  himself  and  Jeff  hard  at  work 
on  the  preservation  of  Terpsichore,  and  then  naturally  on  what 
he  chose  to  think  of  as  all  those  absurd  stories  that  got  hatched 
up  about  the  old  house  and  its  ghosts.  He  supposed  Poggy-Woggy 
would  be  triumphant  over  this  coincidence  about  the  woman  with 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  457 

the  white  head  who  got  out  of  the  room  without  their  hearing. 
Because,  of  course,  it  was  clear  enough  that  was  only  an  halluci- 
nation. It  only  lasted  a  few  seconds;  and,  mind  you,  he  had 
dropped  his  spectacles.  And  wasn't  it  just  about  that  time 
that ? 

And  then  he  heaved  a  sigh,  and  gave  up  shaping  the  thought  that 
an  abnormal  excitement  of  mind,  caused  by  the  intrusion  of 
Lavinia  Straker  into  his  life,  had  made  him  not  quite  responsible 
for  what  he  did  see  and  didn't  see.  He  thought  fit  to  forget  that 
Lavinia  had  not  really  done  so.  She  accrued  very  soon  after  that, 
certainly!  But  Charles  wasn't  playing  fair  in  making  her 
responsible. 

The  image  of  Lavinia  came  and  sat  in  the  chair  in  the  half- 
light — made  his  heart  beat  and  his  eyesight  dim,  for  a  moment. 
Oh,  what  a  fool  he  had  been,  in  that  infatuated  past ! 

Yet,  if  it  were  all  to  do  again,  would  he  act  otherwise  ?  Surely ! — < 
and  that  too  even  if  he  knew  the  thing  he  had  now  learned,  in  vain ; 
that  if  a  marriage  of  dissonant  minds  is  to  last,  it  must  be  in  a 
world  where  no  strong  temptation  shall  cross  its  path,  and  snap 
the  flimsy  bond.  His  old  chivalry  came  in,  and  forged  excuses  for 
the  image  sitting  in  the  chair.  What  right  had  he  to  make  her 
his  yoke-fellow  with  so  little  warrant  that  both  were  prepared  to 
travel  the  same  road  at  the  same  rate?  .  .  . 

And  then,  were  they  not  happy — very  happy — for  a  term?  And 
was  she  not  his  boy's  mother?  And  now!  He  thought  of  how 
there  was,  in  some  place  of  burial  he  should  never  see,  a  stone  that 
held  her  name,  not  his,  and  made  no  record  of  the  life  they  shared. 
And  he  held  his  mind  resolutely  closed,  in  his  chivalry,  against 
all  thought  or  speculation  on  what  her  other  life  had  been.  All 
the  blame  of  that  he  laid  to  the  score  of  others;  whom  we  are  at 
liberty  to  think  may  have  been  no  worse  than  herself. 

A  sort  of  stupid  idea  crossed  his  mind  of  removing  that  chair 
that  brought  her  memory  back  into  the  other  room;  but  he  felt  its 
cowardice,  and  brushed  it  away  with  the  tears  he  could  not  deny 
the  existence  of.  Besides,  where  would  Alice  sit  next  time  she 
came?  The  moment  the  image  of  Alice  sat  in  the  chair,  the  sun 
shone  again  in  Charles's  heart,  and  the  flowers  bloomed,  and  it  was 
filled  again  with  the  singing  of  the  birds.  The  eclipse  had  passed. 
It  was  time  to  be  off,  and  Alice  would  be  at  home.  How  Peggy; 
would  have  said,  "You  fool!" 

But  it  did  not  occur  to  Charles  that  there  was  anything  foolish 
about  his  attitude.  Alice  was  the  best  thing  in  the  world,  of 
course;  but  as  to  what  it  would  be  to  have  to  give  her  up — why!—* 


458  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

sufficient  for  the  day  was  the  evil  thereof!  And  was  he  not  due 
at  his  own  table  at  seven-thirty,  and  Alice  the  same  ? 

As  he  was  hurrying  away  he  was  stopped  by  Mr.  Bauerstein  to 
tell  him  that  the  portrait  of  Phyllis  Cartwright  had  been  carefully 
repaired  and  varnished.  But  there  had  been  a  mishap — that  fool 
Braschi,  the  restorer,  had  cleaned  one  stone  out  of  the  ring  before 
he  found  out  that  it  had  been  painted  over  the  varnish,  after  the 
picture  had  been  finished  some  years.  Mr.  Bauerstein  was  very 
serious  and  concerned  about  it. 

"Can't  be  helped,  I  suppose  1"  said  Charles,  and  started  for 
home. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

PSYCHICAL   RESEARCH.      HOW   HERCULES   OVERTOOK   NESSUS.      SIXTY-SIX 
FOR  THREE  WICKETS.     SHE  MUST  HAVE  BEEN  PRETTY  ONCE 

When  Charles  walked  up  to  the  door  there  was  Alice  ready  for 
dinner,  leaning  on  the  parapet  of  the  balcony,  on  the  look-out. 
Charles  was  very  late. 

"Now,  Mr.  Charley!    Look  alive!" 

"How's  Mrs,  Siddons  ?  How's  Rachel  ?"  Alice  found  no  difficulty 
in  understanding  that  this  was  a  compliment  to  old  Jane's  dra- 
matic faculty.  "She's  gone  to  bed,"  she  replied.  "She  won't 
be  any  the  worse." 

"I  hope  not!"  Charles  is  fishing  for  his  latchkey  with  one  foot 
on  the  doorstep.    Alice  is  so  full  of  some  topic  she  can't  wait. 

"Isn't  this  strange  about  the  woman  ?" 

"It's  uncommon  strange  about  the  ring.    But  which  woman  ?" 

"/  had  forgotten  her!  Mother  Peg  recollected  it  all  in  the  car- 
riage.    The  woman  you  and  Mr.  Jerrythought  saw." 

"Fm  coming  up."  And  Charles  came  up,  and  devoted  himself  to 
pouring  cold  water  over  that  woman  and  over  Psychical  Research 
generally,  except  in  so  far  as  it  threw  doubts  upon  its  own  con- 
clusions. In  that  aspect  it  took  a  respectable  place  among  the 
exact  sciences.    As  for  the  ring,  it  got  ignored  for  the  moment. 

However,  he  had  relented  to  a  certain  extent  by  tobacco  time,  and 
was  prepared  to  admit  that  though  no  one  of  the  No.  40  ghosts  was 
worthy  of  credence  taken  separately,  the  whole  of  them  taken  to- 
gether deserved  careful  consideration  with  a  view  to  their  rejection. 
He  called  this  dealing  with  cumulative  evidence.  Alice  treated  his 
Method  disrespectfully. 

"Now  you're  going  on  like  the  Legal  Mind,  Mr.  Charley,  and 
talking  a  lot  of  nonsense  you  don't  believe."  The  Legal  Mind 
was  brother  Robin,  whom  perhaps  you  recollect.  He  was  gaining 
laurels  at  the  Bar. 

"It's  only  my  intense  love  of  truth,  dear  Alice-for-short.  It's  so 
strong  I  can't  afford  to  run  the  risk  of  being  mistaken.  I  prefer 
to  suspend  judgment.    So  the  old  lady  wasn't  knocked  up  ?" 

"She  was  very  quiet  all  the  way  in  the  carriage.    And  when  we 

459 


460  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

got  home  I  thought  she  would  be  just  as  well  in  bed.  I'll  go  up 
and  see  if  she  ate  the  boiled  fowl." 

When  Alice  came  back,  she  was  able  to  report  that  she  had 
done  so;  but  had  told  Priscilla  she  didn't  want  any  more  and 
would  go  to  sleep.  We  record  these  trivial  facts  because  we  credit 
you  with  being  glad  to  know  that  Mrs.  Verrinder  was  being  prop- 
erly attended  to,  and  was  comfortably  asleep  upstairs  while  Alice 
and  Charles  were  talking  in  the  drawing-room. 

"Now  give  me  a  cigarette,"  said  Alice.  "How  many  ghosts  have 
there  been,  all  told,  Mr.  Charley?" 

"One,  your  own  little  ghost,  my  dear.  I  mean  the  lidy  with  the 
spots.     You  recollect  her?" 

"I'm  not  sure  whether  it's  her  I  recollect,  or  being  told  of  her 
after.  But — oh  yes! — surely  I  recollect  her.  And  my  poor — 
mother!"  Alice  always  flinches  at  this  recollection  and  Charles 
is  sorry  he  has  revived  it.    He  goes  on  rapidly  to  his  second  ghost. 

"Then  you  had  another  one.  The  red  man  with  the  long  knife 
on  the  stairs." 

"I  remember  him  plainly.  I  was  quite  ill  with  terror.  He 
wasn't  exactly  on  the  stairs,  but  in  the  passage — nearer  the  area 
door." 

"Then  there  was  the  woman  ghost  Mrs.  Jeff  saw  twice  upstairs. 
She  pooh-poohs  it  now;  but  all  I  know  is  she  wanted  to  take  away 
poor  dear  Jeff's  irreproachable  character  about  her,  and  then  there 
was  the  woman  that  got  out — that  7  saw.  That  I  have  no  doubt 
was  an  hallucination,  because  I  saw  her  myself." 

"Then  whenever  a  disbelieving  Thomas  sees  a  ghost  it's  an 
hallucination  ?" 

"Generally  speaking,  yes!"  Charles  is  so  extremely  happy  just 
now  that  it  is  difficult  to  make  out  if  he  is  in  earnest.  You  see, 
he  has  got  Alice  all  to  himself.  Most  evenings,  there  would  be 
Pierre  or  the  old  lady;  but  Pierre  has  been  at  a  cricket-match,  and 
no  doubt  gone  home  with  a  friend  to  dinner ;  and  Old  Jane  is  dream- 
ing, perhaps,  of  the  old  days  in  the  old  house;  having  a  surrep- 
titious time  maybe  with  John  Verrinder,  where  he  used  to  paint 
to  get  the  light. 

"Was  that  all?"  Alice  asks. 

"Unless  you  count  an  absurd  fancy  of  Jeff's  about  a  picture  of 
a  man  with  a  sword,  that's  all !" 

"Well!  that's  one  for  you — two  for  me — two  for  Mrs.  Jeff — and 
half  a  one  for  Mr.  Jeff.  Not  a  ghost — say,  a  phenomenon.  Five 
and  a  half!" 

"WeU?" 


ALICE-F021-SH0KT  461 

"Well!  what  more  do  you  want?" 

"I  want  the  other  half,  to  make  up  six." 

"There  now,  Mr.  Charley,  that's  just  like  you!  You  never  can 
be  in  earnest,  for  two  minutes  together." 

"I'll  be  in  earnest  then,  dear !  I  don't  think  we've  got  quite  all 
the  phenomena.  There  was  a  woman  sitting  in  a  chair  and  laugh- 
ing— at  the  Studio — it  was  Pierre  saw  it." 

"I  never  heard  of  that." 

"You  were  at  Miss  Fortescue's  at  that  particular  time.  I  recol- 
lect quite  well." 

"'Tell  me  about  it.    Was  nobody  else  in  the  room  ?" 

"Oh  yes!  There  was — besides  myself — Bauerstein,  a  friend  of 
his,  and — and  Pierre's  mother."  Alice's  face  goes  grave.  She 
throws  away  quite  half  the  cigarette,  and  falls  into  her  attitude 
of  concentration;  her  chin  in  her  hands  and  her  elbows  on  her 
knees.  She  is  seated  on  a  very  low  chair  at  Charles's  feet,  which 
he  has  deposited  on  a  very  high  one. 

"Of  course  Pierre  was  the  merest  baby.    Was  he  frightened  ?" 

"He  said  he  wasn't.  He  didn't  seem  so.  I  saw  him  looking, 
looking  at  something;  and  afterwards  he  said  it  was  this  figure 
sitting  with  her  arms  folded  in  the  chair,  and  laughing  at  his 
mother." 

"What  was— she  doing?" 

"Talking  to  Mr.  Bauerstein's  friend,  by  the  window."  A  cloud 
has  fallen  on  Charles.  But  they  have  spoken  together  often  enough 
about  "her"  for  Alice  to  know  that  it  is  not  caused  only  by  Mrs. 
Charles  Heath's  appearance  in  the  conversation.  Alice  looks  puz- 
zled— only  for  a  few  seconds.  Then  she  sees  it  all.  "Oh!  Mr. 
Charley,"  she  says,  "I  wonder  you  didn't  murder  him!" 

"I  did,  very  nearly,"  said  he. 

"Mother  Peg  knows  nothing  about  that " 

"I  never  told  her  a  word  of  it.  Don't  you  tell  her,  Alice-for- 
short  darling,  and  I'll  tell  you.  .  .  .  Yes,  dear;  but  I  don't  want 
her  to  know,  because  she  always  thinks  it  was  her  fault  we  were 
married;  thinks  it  would  have  gone  off,  but  for  her." 

"Very  well,  I  won't  tell.  You  tell  me."  Alice  has  quite  for- 
gotten the  ghosts,  and  listens  intently  with  tightly  closed  lips. 

"I  traced  them  to  Spezzia,  and  caught  him  on  the  stairs  of  the 
Hotel.  They  are  funny  stairs,  that  play  you  tricks,  and  you  always 
turn  up  in  the  wrong  place,  do  what  you  will !  He  managed  to  get 
out  at  the  back,  while  I  came  out  at  the  front,  goodness  knows 
how!  However,  I  chased  him  out  in  the  street  and  caught 
him " 


462  ALICE-EOE-SHOET 

"And  then?" 

*'l  half  murdered  him." 

"Oh !  I'm  so  glad."    Alice  draws  a  great  breath  of  relief. 

"Not  quite,  that  time!  And  t'other  time  only  three-quarters  or 
seven-eights — ^like  Mr.  Lammle's  friends."  Charles  has  taken  his 
feet  oif  the  very  high  chair,  and  left  Alice  on  the  very  low  one. 
He  is  walking  about  the  room.  Alice  naturally  wants  to  know 
what  "t'other  time"  was.  Charles  says  is  she  quite  sure  she  won't 
mention  a  word  of  this  to  Peg.    Alice  says :  "Honour  bright !" 

"Well!  he  didn't  half  like  the  thrashing  he'd  had,  and  wanted  a 
duel  with  swords,  like  in  The  Corsican  Brothers.  Of  course,  I 
said  nothing  would  please  me  better." 

"You  ?    Oh !  Mr.  Charley !  you  never  used  a  sword  in  your  life." 

"Exactly.  So  I  went  to  a  great  professor  of  Scherma,  as  the 
Italians  absurdly  call  fencing — but  then  they  are  foreigners " 

"Yes — ^yes !  go  on." 

" and  asked  him  how  much  he  could  teach  me  in  a  fortnight, 

I  never  having  handled  a  sword  in  my  life.  He  said,  through  an 
interpreter,  who  spoke  English  fluently:  *No  usefulness.  Not  for 
you.'  And  then  added:  'I  vite  you  coat?'  He  gave  me  a  foil  to 
show  my  paces  with,  and  put  some  chalk  on  the  end  of  his  own. 
In  a  few  seconds  he  had  put  a  white  spot  exactly  on  every  button 
©f  my  waistcoat,  beginning  at  the  top  one  and  going  down !" 

"Good  gracious  me!" 

^TTes,  he  had.  Then  he  told  me  all  he  could  recommend  was  that 
I  should  point  my  sword  straight  at  my  adversary  and  keep  quiet. 
I  did  so,  and  the  excellent  man  was  in  such  a  hurry  to  murder 
me,  in  addition  to  his  other  benefactions,  that  he  rushed  right  on 
to  my  abominable  spike,  and  very  nearly  hurt  himself  seriously. 
He  was  in  hospital  six  weeks,  I  believe." 

"And  she  nursed  him,  I  hope?" 

"My  dearest  little  Alice-f  or-short,  you  think  every  woman  as  good 
as  yourself.    No!  she  didn't  wait  for  him." 

"Good  God!" 

"It's  quite  true!  But,  my  dear  little  girl,  I  tell  you  she  was 
dead.  This  was  some  one  else  who  came  instead." — Charles  has 
stopped  walking  about  the  room,  and  is  standing  by  Alice,  who  has 
got  up  off  the  very  low  chair  during  the  narrative  of  the  duel. 

"And  all  this  while,  you  poor  dear  Mr.  Charley,  you  never  told 
anyhodyl" 

**Why  should  I?  Peg  would  have  thought  it  was  her  faidt  I 
know.  And  as  for  you,  dear  chick,  I  think  you  were  out,  but  that's 
as  much  as  one  could  say." 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  463 

Alice's  eyes  are  flashing,  and  she  is  fairly  trembling  with  excite- 
ment, "Oh !  it  was  too  bad — too  bad !"  she  cries.  "1  can't  help  it, 
She  was  horrible!" 

"Oh!  no — gently,  darling,  gently!" 

"Yes!  she  destroyed  your  life  for  you,  and  set  you  all  adrift! 
And  let  you  keep  her  odious  old  mother  from  starvation — ^you  know 
she  did!  And  never  so  much  as  tried  to  see  Pierre  again.  She 
was  an  unnatural  Beast!" 

"No,  no — darling — gently,  gently !    Not  so  bad  as  that !" 

"Don't  care  what  you  say,  Mr.  Charley!"  says  Alice,  relieved 
and  calming  down,  "that's  what  she  was.  And  now  you'U  never 
get  married  again — ^Mother  Peg  says  so." — Charles  evades  the 
question. 

"I'm  much  more  interested  about  a  little  girl  I  know  and  her 
offers  than  I  am  or  ever  shall  be  about  myself." 

"No — Mr.  Charley — no !  It's  no  use  your  talking  like  that.  If  s 
got  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  my  having  no  offers  worth  con- 
sidering.   If  it  was  the  Emperor  of  China " 

"Who  is  married  at  present,  I  believe." 

"If  it  was  the  Emperor  of  China  and  he  undertook  to  divorce 
them  all  and  become  a  Christian,  I  wouldn't!  Not  until  I  saw 
you  quite  comfortably  and  happily  settled  with  a  really  nice  wife. 
I  wouldn't!  I  wouldn't!  I  wouldn't! — so  there!" 

Perhaps  nothing  could  have  been  more  forcibly  illustrative  of 
the  false  gamut  in  which  the  duet  of  these  two  was  being  played 
than  the  little  incident  which  followed.  About  the  time  of  the 
introduction  of  the  Emperor  of  China  into  the  conversation,  Alice 
and  Charles  were  standing  near  enough  to  one  another  for  her  to 
accentuate  her  declaration  and  enforce  it  by  holding  to  the  two 
lappets  of  his  coat-collar,  which  she  had  just  brushed  some  tobacco- 
ash  off,  for  tidiness.  Her  doing  this  reacted  somehow  on  the  dra- 
matic ensemble.  It  was  a  species  of  little  ritual  by  the  way, 
performed  to  attest  a  solemn  asseveration.  Charles  did  not  seem 
to  attach  much  weight  either  to  the  ritual  or  the  asseveration.  He 
seemed  to  be  thinking  wistfully  of  something  else,  afar  off,  as  he 
smoothed  over  the  soft  mouse-coloured  hair  with  a  tinge  of  chest- 
nut. Eor  him,  it  still  lay  on  the  brow  of  the  little  girl  with  the 
broken  jug.  It  was  that  fact  that  made  it  seem  natural  and  con- 
secutive that  Alice  should  put  both  her  arms  quite  round  his  neck 
and  kiss  his  cheek.    She  was  so  sorry  for  him  in  his  loneliness. 

If  it  did  occur  to  him  (not  that  we  believe  it  did)  to  say  to 
Alice :  "Then,  dear  love,  if  I  can  secure  you  here,  alive  and  continu- 
ous, by  not  attaching  to  myself  some  odious  eligible  somebody  else» 


464  ALICE-rOR-SHORT 

then  I  won't — I  won't — I  won't.  So  there!"  If  this  did  occur  to 
him  he  brushed  it  away  in  favour  of  another  thought.  "If  I  am 
really  acting  as  an  influence  over  this  dear  child,  and  the  happiness 
of  her  life,  ought  I  not  forthwith  to  marry  Miss  Everitt  CoUinson  ?" 
This  was  the  last  selection  of  the  council  in  Harley  Street ;  she  was 
even  less  popular  with  Charles  than  Lady  Anstruther  Paston- 
Forbes  had  been. 

We  are  convinced  that  there  was  one  thought  that  never  entered 
into  his  mind — the  thought  that  what  his  heart  called  his  old 
wasted,  thwarted  life  could  ever  be  linked  with  this  young  new 
one — all  the  more  because  he  prized  and  valued  Alice  almost  above 
everything  else  in  the  world.  Yesl  almost  more  than  Peggy!  It 
seems  to  you  and  to  us  that  this  ought  to  have  suggested  an  im- 
proved way  of  looking  at  the  whole  matter,  but  it  didn't.  It  is 
strange  but  true  that  any  utilisation  of  Alice's  affection  for  himself 
as  a  stepping-stone  to  an  almost  inconceivable  happiness,  a  rein- 
statement of  his  old  broken  life  by  a  love  sweeter  than  any  he  had 
ever  known,  would  have  seemed  to  him  a  disloyalty  towards  her 
youth  and  inexperience.  "Oh  dear!"  (we  can  fancy  many  a  lady 
saying)  "if  only  men  would  mind  their  own  affairs,  and  let  us  look 
after  ours !" 

However,  Charles  was  not  without  excuse  for  what  would  have 
been  mere  officious  altruism  in  others.  He  regarded  Alice  as  a 
charge  entrusted  to  him  by  Fate.  He  had  all  the  duties  of  a  parent 
towards  her,  and  shrank  (so  to  speak)  from  the  appropriation  of  a 
fund  placed  in  his  hands  to  his  own  purposes.  He  might  have 
thought  (only  we  have  no  evidence  that  he  even  went  that  far)  that 
it  would  have  been  quite  another  matter  if  he  had  never  made  hay 
of  his  own  life.    It  was  all  his  own  fault. 

It  is  almost  needless  to  dwell  on  the  fact  that  every  manifesta- 
tion of  Alice's  affection  for  him  only  emphasised  the  character  his 
mind  had  automatically  given  it.  He  did  not  say  to  himself  that 
the  very  freedom  with  which  her  arms  went  round  his  neck — the 
absolute  unreserve  with  which  her  soft  lips  kissed  his  cheek — fur- 
nished a  sufficient  proof  that  her  love  for  him  was  not  "that  sort" ; 
and  that  she  was,  in  effect,  a  daughter.  He  did  not  say  it,  but  the 
facts  that  might  have  made  him  speak  passed  speech  by,  and 
settled  in  his  soul  in  silence. 

We  are  dwelling  (to  your  disgust,  we  doubt  not)  on  these  points 
because  we  really  want  to  take  you  into  our  confidence  about 
Charles  and  Alice,  and  what  they  thought  and  felt.  Never  you 
mind  how  we  come  to  know  these  things!  We  answer  for  their 
accuracy.    Be  content  with  that! 


ALICE-FOK-SHOET  465 

Charles  rather  laid  stress  upon  his  treatment  of  Alice  as  a  very- 
little  girl,  and  when  she  had  kissed  him  as  above  narrated,  merely 
said :  "Now  the  other  side  to  make  it  even."  By  the  time  the  bal- 
ance was  struck,  Charles  was  beaming  again.  Alice  had  kissed  the 
cloud  away.  A  sense  of  dismissal  of  the  recent  conversation 
ensued.  Charles  glanced  back  for  a  resumption  point,  and  had 
to  go  a  long  way. 

"Let's  see.  Miss  Kavanagh!  What  was  it  you  interrupted  my 
saying  just  now?     Oh,  about  the  ring " 

"Just  now !  Three  hours  ago !  But  it  is  strange — the  strangest 
thing  of  the  whole  turn  out." 

"It's  all  clear  so  far  as  how  the  diamond  was  worked  in  with 
the  other  stones.  Stick  out  your  little  pud."  Alice  complies. 
There  is  the  ring.  There  are  the  stones.  And,  as  interpreted  with 
the  help  of  that  stray  cabman,  they  certainly  spell — "dearest 
Phyllis." 

"Why,"  asked  Alice,  "did  he  go  in  for  such  a  long  string  of 
stones  ?  Dear  would  have  been  enough  in  all  conscience !"  Charles 
shook  his  head  with  gravity.  "It  would  have  looked  as  if  it  had 
been  done  after  marriage,  and  referred  to  milliner's  bills."  He 
took  Alice's  fingers  in  his,  and  pondered  over  the  ring.  For  him, 
it  was  on  the  little  hand  he  had  led  her  home  by,  to  the  extensive 
basement  with  cellarage. 

"Now,  Alice-for-short,  we  can  consider.  So  far,  we're  clear! 
Except  on  the  supposition  of  an  undesigned  coincidence.  Of 
course,  it  is  possible,  though  not  probable,  that  this  ring  is  a  ring 
some  one  accidentally  dropped  in  that  celebrated  beer-jug — some 
one  who  came  in  to  look  at  the  premises." 

"Not  so  very  improbable,  compared  to  some  of  the  expedients  of 
incredulity  at  bay." 

"I  beg  your  pardon — I  beg  your  pardon!  It  wasn't  me.  Well 
now!  how  did  this  here  ring  get  into  that  there  beer-jug?  that's 
the  point." 

"I  think  I  see.  Mrs.  Kaimes  was  frightened  when  the  enraged 
brother  came  after  her,  and  dropped  it  in  the  beer.  I  suppose  they 
had  beer  at  parties  in  those  days.  Then  it  got  overlooked  and  was 
left  in  the  jug.  Then  the  jug  got  used  for  common,  and  was 
stood  down  by  the  side  of  the  cask." 

"Probability  itself!  And  then  when  the  Luttrell  family  cleared 
out,  their  beer-cask  and  draught-jug  were  passed  on  as  a  sort  of 
tenant's  fixtures." 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Charley,  dear !  didn't  you  tell  me  ? — only  very  likely 
I've  got  the  story  all  wrong." 


466  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  what?" 

"Didn't  you  tell  me  that  it  was  supposed  that  the  sand  that  was 
taken  out  of  where  the  bones  were  buried  had  been  shovelled  in 
on  the  top  of  the  beer-jug  and  that  was  how  it  got  hidden  till  my 
poor " 


"Father  and  mother?" 

"Yes — found  it?  And  surely  this  ring  never  could  have  been 
living  in  that  beer-jug  for  very  long  undetected?"  Whereupon 
Charles  remarks  that  the  plot  is  thickening,  and  he  must 
fill  his  pipe  to  think  that  over.  Assisted  by  a  few  whiffs,  he  re- 
sumes : 

"You  mean  the  jug  must  have  been  covered  in  when  the  bones 
were  buried  ?" 

"And  that  the  ring  cannot  have  been  long  in  the  jug.  Or  it 
would  have  been  found." 

"So,  if  Mrs.  Esther  Kaimes  put  the  ring  in  the  beer  that  evening, 
the  bones  must  have  been  interred  then  or  shortly  after." 

"It  seems  to  fix  the  date  of  the  bones,  doesn't  it  ?" 

"Well — ^perhaps !  But  if  so  I  should  say  it  threw  a  doubt  on  the 
date  when  the  ring  was  put  in  the  jug.  There's  the  boy!"  So 
there  is,  and  in  a  few  seconds  he  rushes  upstairs  and  bursts  into  the 
room  shouting.     "Not  out!  sixty-six  for  three  wickets!" 

When  cricket  comes  in  at  the  door,  rational  intercourse  flies  out 
of  the  window.  And  if  you  are  wise,  you  say  it  is  time  to  go  to 
bed.  Charles  said  so,  and  Alice  and  Pierre  took  the  broad  hint 
and  went.    Charles  himself  had  another  pipe. 

He  smoked  his  pipe  out,  turned  off  the  gas,  lit  his  bedroom 
candle,  and  followed.  When  he  came  to  his  boy's  bedroom  door  he 
opened  it  gently  and  looked  in.  He  need  not  have  been  so  particu- 
lar. The  cricketer  was  already  in  a  deep  and  motionless  sleep. 
He  looked  at  him  for  a  few  moments,  not  fearing  that  any  candle- 
light would  disturb  such  a  depth  of  slumber — a  depth  that  an  after- 
noon of  powerful  off-driving,  etc.,  etc.,  deserves  and  reaches — 
and  thought  to  himself  that  a  cricketer  of  this  age,  awake,  sug- 
gests the  man  he  is  going  to  be;  but  put  him  to  bed,  and  forth- 
with he  suggests  the  baby  he  was!  The  arm  that  had  not  gone 
quite  to  bed,  and  still  hung  outside,  was  as  sound  asleep  as  the 
rest;  and  Charles  remembered  his  old  happiness  in  an  early  day, 
when  he  looked  at  that  same  hand  once  as  it  rested  on  its  mother's 
bosom — one  day  when  they  were  going  out  to  a  party,  and  baby 
was  produced  at  his  request,  and  consented  to  be  took,  but  refused 
to  wake  on  any  terms.  "Poor  Lav,"  said  Charles  to  himself.  And 
he  would  have  gone  to  bed  sad,  only  as  it  chanced  he  met  Alice 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  467 

in  a  sort  of  blue  tea-gown  thing  in  the  passage,  coming  from  the 
old  lady's  room.  "Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh !"  said  she,  very  sotto-voce,  "just 
look  in  at  her !     She's  like  an  effigy  on  a  tomb." 

So  she  was.  "She  must  have  been  a  pretty  girl  once,'* 
said  Alice.  "I  should  think  she  must,"  said  he.  "Good-night, 
dearl" 


CHAPTER  XLV 

now  MR.  SCOTT  HAD  WRITTEN  A  NOVEL.  MORE  MEMORY  OF  OLD  JANe's. 
CHELSEA  WATERWORKS  IN  HYDE  PARK  I  MORE  INGREDIENTS  FOR  A 
SUPERNATURAL  PIE 

Old  Jane  paid  the  penalty  of  her  high-strung  condition  when 
she  told  the  story.  She  was  below  par  for  several  days,  and  seemed 
to  like  to  be  quiet,  and  to  read,  in  an  absent  way,  anything  she 
had  read  in  her  youth.  She  asked  for  the  poems  of  Mr.  Walter 
Scott,  which  she  had  been  very  fond  of.  But  she  was  much  sur- 
prised and  interested  to  hear  that  Mr.  Scott  had  made  a  great  suc- 
cess as  a  novelist,  only  a  year  or  so  after  her  accident. 

"I  have  missed  so  many  things,"  said  she,  with  a  gentle  sweet- 
ness that  was  quite  characteristic.  Then  as  if  the  thought  had 
crossed  her  mind  that  she  need  lose  no  more,  she  continued:  "But 
you  are  always  writing,  darling  Cynthia,  and  it  isn't  letters.  Do 
tell  me !"  Then  Alice  told  her,  to  amuse  her,  what  she  was  writing 
now  was  a  story,  and  she  was  to  have  a  hundreds  pounds  for  it  if 
the  publisher  didn't  change  his  mind  when  he  read  it. 

"Well,  that  is  nice,  dear!  Fancy  being  able  to  earn  a  whole 
hundred  pounds!" 

"Ah,  but  that's  nothing  to  Mr.  Charley!  Do  you  know  he's  to 
have  a  penny  a  word  for  the  story  he's  writing  now?  But  then 
it's  got  to  be  exactly  twelve  thousand  words."  This  was  the  case, 
and  Charles  had  written  an  absurd  letter  to  his  publisher  to  know  if 
the  word  finis  was  to  be  included.  Would  he  write  by  return,  he 
said;  because  it  all  depended  on  that  what  plot  he  chose?  Alice 
didn't  tell  the  old  lady  this ;  it  was  too  complex. 

"You  must  read  them  both  to  me,  darling  Cynthia,  won't  you? 
But  I  have  such  a  lot  to  read.  I  should  like  to  read  that  novel  of 
Mr.  Scott's  you  told  me  of."  This  did  not  mean  Waverley,  nor 
any  particular  novel.  All  she  realised  was  that  Mr.  Walter  Scott, 
the  poet,  had  written  "a  Novel"  and  had  a  great  success.  She 
was  glad  to  hear  that  he  had  been  made  a  baronet.  Was  he  still 
living  ? — but,  ah,  yes ! — she  had  forgotten. 

Alice  promised  to  get  a  copy  of  "Scott's  Novel"  with  a  print  not 

468 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  469 

too  small  for  Mrs.  Verrinder  to  read.  There  was  more  than  one 
edition,  she  said.  She  spoke  to  Charles  about  it,  as  she  thought 
Waverley  would  be  dull  for  her;  Charles  recommended  the  Heart 
of  Midlothian.  The  old  lady  tried  to  read  it,  but  she  had  over- 
estimated her  powers  of  fixing  her  attention  on  anything  new,  and 
gave  it  up.  She  fell  back  on  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  and  the  Bible. 
Practically,  she  could  only  read  what  she  had  read.  Alice  tried  her 
with  Dickens  and  Thackeray,  but  she  could  make  nothing  of  them. 

She  was  perfectly  sweet-tempered  and  contented.  When  left 
alone,  as  of  course  she  was  for  hours  at  a  time,  she  very  rarely 
rang  the  hand-bell  that  stood  beside  her  for  Priscilla  the  maid,  who 
was  always  at  hand.  She  appeared  to  read  and  re-read  the  Gospels 
and  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  Whenever  Alice  found  her  reading 
the  former,  she  would  look  over  her  shoulder  to  find  where  she  was 
reading.  It  was  almost  always  the  story  of  the  Resurrection.  She 
once  accounted  for  this  to  Alice:  "You  see,  my  darling,"  she  said, 
"it  may  be  really  true,  and  not  only  like  Going  to  Church."  There 
was  every  reason  to  suppose  that  the  main  thought  current  in  her 
mind  was: — Should  she  meet  her  husband  again,  or  not?  She 
had  evidently  had  a  dose  of  Sunday  Religion  in  her  youth,  and  did 
not  find  it  a  tower  of  strength.  She  fell  back  on  the  best  transla- 
tion she  could  get  of  the  original  story.  It  was  the  Psychical 
Research  of  a  stranded  and  shipwrecked  soul. 

She  took  very  kindly  to  Lady  Johnson,  whom  she  called  a 
delightful  person.  Peggy  used  often  to  come  and  sit  with  her; 
but  she  was  afraid  to  say  a  word  of  her  wishes  about  Charles 
and  Alice,  lest  it  should  pass  on  to  them,  and  only  serve  to  make 
them  uncomfortable,  without  bringing  her  wishes  nearer  their 
fulfilment.  Besides,  Rupert  entreated  her  on  no  account  to  breathe 
a  hint  of  "anything."    So  she  held  her  tongue. 

But  there  was  no  embargo  on  conversation  about  No.  40,  As 
Peggy  had  been  quite  outside  the  audience  of  the  cousin  Becky 
story,  she  could  talk  about  the  old  house  without  seeming  to  con- 
nect them  together.  One  day  she  referred  to  the  Phyllis  Cart- 
wright  portrait,  which  had  come  from  the  cleaners.  Now  you 
must  bear  in  mind  that  by  common  consent  the  whole  of  the  mys- 
terious occurrences  at  the  house  had  been  kept  back  from  the  old 
lady,  for  fear  of  any  portion  of  them  acting  as  suggestion,  and 
qualifying  her  recollections,  which  were  probably  far  from  ex- 
hausted. Charles  was  especially  anxious  nothing  should  confuse 
or  bewilder  her.    Left  alone,  she  would  remember  more. 

So,  when  Peggy  spoke  to  her  about  the  portrait  and  how  the 
cleaner  had  muddled  one  of  the  stones  in  the  ring  through  not 


410  AXICE-rOR-SHOKT 

understanding  that  it  had  been  painted  over  the  first  varnish,  she 
was  careful  not  to  allude  to  the  discovery  in  the  cellar,  or  the 
candidates  for  Psychical  Research.  The  portrait  was  merely  an 
interesting  portrait,  so  far  as  she  was  supposed  to  be  informed. 
It  was  the  portrait  of  one  Phyllis  Cartwright,  but  what  should  «5he 
know  of  Phyllis  Cartwright?  She  merely  mentioned  the  name  as 
the  one  she  had  heard  Charley  call  it  by.  The  old  lady  repeated 
it  after  her,  two  or  three  times. 

"That  must  be  Lady  Luttrell's  portrait — ^my  dear  Alice's  cousin, 
Rebecca  Luttrell's  aunt  by  marriage.  Her  name — ^yes! — her  name 
was  Cartwright." 

"Not  Alice's,  dear  Mrs.  Verrinder.  You  mean  the  Cynthia  she 
reminds  you  of."  The  thin  colourless  hands,  that  looked  almost  as 
if  they  might  vanish  at  any  moment,  made  a  sort  of  despairing 
movement.  "I  am  always  making  that  mistake,"  said  their  owner, 
"but  I  know.  Lady  Johnson,  that  you  forgive  me.  Of  course  I 
meant  dear  Cynthia  Luttrell."  She  spoke  in  a  wistful,  absent  way, 
not  as  expressing  doubt  of  what  she  said,  but  with  a  kind  of 
reflection  in  her  voice  of  the  distance  and  dimness  of  the  person 
she  spoke  of. 

"It  is  so  difficult  to  think,"  she  went  on,  "that  my  real  Cynthia 
is  gone.     She  must  be  dead  or  she  would  have  come,  or  written." 

It  had  been  found  possible  to  give  the  old  mind  the  idea  of  the 
actual  lapse  of  time;  but  not  of  the  complete  detachment  it  had 
effected,  between  herself  and  all  her  old  associations.  On  this 
occasion  she  did  not  dwell  on  the  original  Cynthia;  she  went  back 
to  the  portrait,  speaking  slowly  and  reflectively. 

"I  wonder — which — stone — it  is!    Not  tlie  diamond,  I  hope?" 

"No!  At  least,  I  don't  think  there  was  a  diamond."  Peggy 
was  getting  a  little  alarmed  lest  she  should  malce  a  false  step. 
If  the  ring  was  invisible  before  it  was  cleaned,  how  should  she 
know  what  stone  had  been  taken  out  ?  Yet,  of  course,  all  the  while, 
she  did  know:  it  was  the  jacinth. 

"There  must  have  been  a  diamond,  dear  Lady  Johnson,  ihe  dia- 
mond, you  know !" 

"Very  likely  I'm  wrong — you  see  I  haven't  seen  it  myself. 
Charley  told  me."  The  old  lady  was  not  critical  over  this:  her 
mind  was  fructifying  though. 

"Of  course!"  she  said,  after  a  short  silence,  in  which  Peggy 
helped,  "Lady  Luttrell  would  be  sure  to  have  the  ring  painted  on 
with  the  diamond  hidden,  and  only  the  letters  of  Phyllis  visible. 
Because,  dear  Lady  Johnson,  don't  yon  see  that  her  object  was 
to  prove  the  ring  was  her  own,  so  she  had  it  painted  on  a  picture 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  471 

that  was  done  of  her  before  she  married."  Old  Jane  was  wonder- 
fully sharp  and  bright  this  morning.  How  Peggy  did  wish,  if  she 
was  just  going  to  tell  something  interesting,  that  some  one  else 
had  been  there  to  help  in  recollecting  it ! 

"Can  you  recollect  the  picture  yourself,  Mrs.  Verrinder  f ' 

"I  daresay  I  shall  when  I  see  it.  Only  there  were  so  many 
pictures !  In  my  father's  house,  I  mean.  I  wonder  how  this  came 
to  be  there?  I  should  have  thought  old  Becky  would  have  taken 
away  all  her  pictures." 

"Had  she  any  place  to  hang  them  in?" 

"No — that's  true!  She  lived  with  a  relation,  who  hated  her 
family,  but  forgave  her.  Of  course;  she  left  the  pictures  in  my 
father's  charge."  This  seemed  not  to  matter — old  pictures  do  slop 
about  the  world  in  a  vague  way,  till  some  sesthomenous  person 
detects  quality  in  them,  and  has  them  restored;  and  then  some 
other  denounces  his  Vandalism,  and  between  the  two  the  pictures- 
get  into  expensive  frames  behind  plate  glass  and  have  Vokins  or 
Agnew  bracketed  after  them  at  sales.  Let  Old  Jane  go  on 
talking : — 

"It  was  wonderful  she  remembered  it  all  so  clearly.  What  I 
told  you  and  my  dear  Cynthia,  you  know ?" 

"No,  not  me.    You  told  Alice  and  Charley,  and  my  girl  Lucy." 

'^es — a  nice  little  thing !  Isn't  she  here  ?" — She  is.  But  she  is 
having  an  Argument  with  Pierre  two  rooms  off.  Peggy  discerns 
help  in  recollection,  and  summons  her. 

"Yes — my  child!"  says  the  old  lady.  "Kiss  me!  Of  course  you 
were  there,  and  heard  all  about  old  Becky  and  the  ball,  and  the 

duel "    Lucy  is  armed  at  all  points  for  interrogation  and  record,^ 

and  immediately  vaults  on  to  the  back  of  an  interviewer's  Pegasus. 

"Not  the  duel,"  says  she,  shaking  her  head  firmly.  "You  didn't 
tell  us  about  it.  You  only  said  there  was  a  duel."  The  old  lady's 
eyes  rest  with  pleasure  on  the  earnest  face  of  the  new  one — the 
very  new  one — bracing  itself  up  to  take  notes.  There  is  seventy 
years  between  them !  And  the  notes  are  to  be  abo»t  what  was  seen 
and  heard  by  another  very  new  one,  in  days  that  have  become  His- 
tory and  can  be  researched  in.     Oh,  so  long  ago ! — 

"Didn't  I  tell  about  the  duel?  But  I  told  you  how  old  Becky 
heard  the  men  quarrelling  on  the  stairs?" — Oh  yes,  Lucy  testifies, 
and  how  Sir  Cramer  went  out,  and  came  back,  and  then  went  off  in 
a  rage  after  his  sister. — "Well !  my  dear — those  two  men  that  quar- 
relled went  away  and  fought  in  the  Park — in  Hyde  Park — ^with 
swords.  And  one  was  killed  I  It  is  so  dreadful,  dear  Lady  Johnson, 
to  think  that  that  wickedness  goes  on,  even  now !  They  told  me  there 


412  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

was  a  man  shot  in  a  duel  at  Nine  Elms,  only  the  other  day !" — She 
paused,  seeming  to  try  to  remember  something.    "Yes !  I  remember 

now.    It  was  Lord ,*  who  ran  Neville  Kaimes  through  the 

body.  And  old  Becky  said  the  story  went  that  this  Lord  was  in 
love  with  Mistress  Kaimes,  as  she  called  her — but,  dear  child,  I 
oughtn't  to  tell  you  all  this  wickedness." — Lucy  alleges  that  she 
is  familiar  with  every  enormity  man  is  capable  of,  and  her  mother 
says  at  any  rate  she  knows  the  commandments.  The  old  lady  con- 
tinues:— "Well!  he  and  Esther  Kaimes  had  broken  one  of  them — 
so  they  said !  And  after  the  duel  both  of  them  vanished.  In  fact, 
it  was  believed  that  when  she  slipped  away  with  the  ring,  she 
followed  the  duellists  to  the  Park,  and  went  straight  away  to 
Paris  with  her  husband's  murderer.  Old  Becky  said  she  was  bad 
•enough  for  anything." 

"I  wonder  where  they  fought  in  Hyde  Park?"  This  is  Lucy, 
who  is  projecting  a  personally  conducted  tour  to  the  spot,  if  it  can 
be  identified. 

"Old  Becky  told  us.  It  was  on  the  banks  of  what  she  called  the 
New  Serpentine.  But  I  think  her  memory  was  confused  with  old 
age.  Because  she  said  it  was  just  beyond  where  the  Chelsea  Water- 
works used  to  be." 

"Are  you  sure  the  name  was  Lord ?"  asked  Peggy.    The 

old  lady  was  quite  sure  she  had  it  right.  Peggy,  however,  felt 
equally  sure  there  must  be  some  mistake.  She  suspected  the  orig- 
inal old  narrator  of  having  made  one.  Her  mind  was  evidently 
wandering,  on  some  subjects.     Fancy  the  Chelsea  Waterworks  in 

Hyde  Park !    Besides,  Peggy  had  a  recollection  about  Lord 

which  made  the  story  most  improbable.  She  would  talk  to  Charles 
about  it. 

"Did  they  always  wear  swords,  all  of  them,  in  those  days?"  asks 
Lucy.    "What  did  they  do  when  they  danced?" 

"I  can't  say,  my  dear  child.  I  can  only  tell  the  tale  as  old 
Becky  told  it  to  us — John  and  me.  Ah,  dear!  I  can  almost  shut 
my  eyes  now,  and  fancy  I  hear  her  telling — it  seems  only  like  the 
■other  day."    But  the  interviewer  is  not  happy  about  those  swords. 

"Perhaps  they  left  them  outside,  like  umbrellas,"  says  she. 

"Perhaps  they  did,  my  dear.  But  Sir  Cramer  must  have  had  his 
on.  Because  I  remember  Miss  Rebecca  saying  he  touched  it  with 
his  finger  when  he  spoke  to  Lord  Ferrars  about  his  father's  will. 
Of  course  the  others  may  have  found  theirs  in  the  lobby  when  they 
■came  down." 

At  this  point  Peggy  thought  Mrs.  Verrinder  was  beginning  to 
♦  A  well-known  name  at  the  time.    About  1730-40. 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  473 

feel  tired.  So  she  collected  Lucy  and  carried  her  off,  still  not 
quite  contented  about  the  swords.  It  was  the  effect  on  a  young 
mind  of  being  compelled  to  think  of  a  past  age  as  an  actuality. 
She  would  have  accepted  any  amount  of  rapiers  on  the  stage  as 
readily  as  tie-wigs  and  hoops,  when  there  was  courtliness  going  on, 
and  repartee.  But  when  it  came  to  talking  about  people  who  had 
been  seen  by  an  old  friend  of  the  live  person  you  were  talking  to — 
why  really !  Lucy  would  go  home,  and  read  Esmond  and  The  Four 
Georges.     And  her  mother  would  recollect  to  ask  Charles  about  a 

story  she  had  read  of  the  death  of  Lord which  seemed  to 

her  to  quarrel  with  that  of  his  elopement  with  Mrs.  Kaimes.  Also, 
she  asked  herself,  why  should  a  man  run  away  to  Paris  merely  be- 
cause he  had  killed  another  in  a  duel?  In  those  days  it  was  all 
right.  He  had  only  to  marry  the  widow.  But  perhaps  he  thought 
it  would  be  better  taste  to  do  that  in  Paris.  She  would  talk  to 
Charles. 

She  got  the  opportunity  shortly.  A  few  days  after  this,  Alice 
went  into  the  country  to  help  a  friend  to  look  at  a  house  her  hus- 
band was  in  treaty  for.  So  Charles  was  lonesome,  and  appealed 
to  Peggy  to  rescue  him  as  much  as  possible.  He  didn't  want  to 
leave  the  old  lady  quite  alone.  It  really  was  extraordinary  what 
a  hold  she  had  unconsciously  established  on  him  and  Alice.  So 
he  wouldn't  come  away  from  Charley  Street  in  the  evening.  But 
Peggy  would  come  and  see  the  restored  picture  at  No.  40 — wouldn't 
she?  And  then  he  would  come  to  Harley  Street  to  tea.  Only  if 
he  stayed  on  to  dinner  he  must  go  away  directly  after. 

"So  you  shall,  Charley  dear!"  said  Peggy  after  they  had  looked 
at  the  picture  together.  "He  shall  go  home  to  his  adopted  grand- 
mamma, he  shall!  I  don't  at  all  wonder  at  you,  dear  old  boy.  I 
should,  if  I  were  you.  There's  something  so  very  sweet  about  her 
white  hair.  And  those  sad  eyes  that  seem  to  have  given  it  all  up. 
And  those  transparent  hands  one  sees  the  veins  in.  I  really  could 
have  cried  like  any  little  girl  when  she  held  out  that  almost  atmos- 
pheric wedding-finger  to  show  me  how  slack  the  ring  had  gone. 
And  then  she  said,  quite  with  a  quiet  smile — it  was  I  that  wanted 

to  cry — 'It  was  not  like  that  when  John ' "     Peggy  pulls  up 

short  with  her  lips  very  tightly  shut,  for  some  reason. 

"I  know !"  said  Charles,  "I  can  assure  you  she  puts  me  and  Alice 
to  it  sometimes.    Alice  has  to  run  away  to  cry." 

"Don't  you?" 

"Oh  no!  I'm  a  male  he — it's  another  pair  of  shoes.  But  it  is 
trying,  now  and  again.  The  evening  before  last,  for  instance, 
she  was  very  quiet.    Then  Alice  went  to  her  and  kissed  her  and 


474  ALICE-rOR-SHOET 

said  what  was  it  ?  And  what  do  you  suppose  the  poor  old  lady  was 
thinking  about?  Why,  pancakes! — of  all  things  in  the  world. 
John  was  so  fond  of  pancakes  and  she  was  so  afraid  that  all  that 
time  he  never  got  any,  with  no  one  to  see  to  him.  He  never  took 
^ny  care  of  himself!  But  she  was  quite  quiet,  the  way  she  said 
it — musically  quiet — you  know  her  way?" 

"I  know.    I  don't  the  least  wonder  at  you,  Charley  dear !" 

"Then  she  went  on,  'I  should  like  to  know  if  he  ever  bought  him- 
«elf  a  new  hat.  One  of  the  last  things  I  recollect  was  when  he 
"went  out  to  buy  some  strawberries  because  old  Miss  Eebeeca  was 
coming,  and  I  said  to  him  he  really  must  get  himself  a  new  hat.' — 
And  I  thought  to  myself,"  said  Charles,  "this  would  account  for 
the  poor  old  chap's  extraordinary  hat.  I  recollect  some  of  the 
students  at  the  Schools  making  game  of  it,  and  trying  it  on.  It 
belonged  to  the  date — well!  say  of  Napoleon  at  Elba." — Charles 
recalled  the  occasion  when  he  met  Verrinder  on  the  rail,  and  the 
dismal  attempt  to  make  a  polished  coat-sleeve  renew  the  nap  of 
that  strangest  of  headdresses. 

"Have  you  adopted  her  altogether,  Charley  darling?" 

"Well — me  and  Alice — we  shouldn't  like  to  part  with  her,  you 
know !" 

"You  are  so  funny — you  and  your  adopted  daughter  and  your 
adopted  grandmother!"  If  Peggy  had  any  hope  in  saying  this 
that  Charles  would  recoil  from  Alice's  daughtership,  she  was  going 
to  be  disappointed. 

"Yes — ^my  adopted  daughter — Alice-for-short !"  Image  to  your- 
-self  that  he  is  sitting  at  Peggy's  feet,  she  being  in  Miss  Straker's 
old  chair  and  ruffling  his  head  for  him,  just  as  of  old.  There  is  no 
sort  of  change  between  this  brother  and  sister.  What  they  were 
once,  that  they  are  now.  Charles  continues: — "Dear  little  Alice- 
for-short!  Recollect  her  coming  in  here  and  having  no  cake, 
because  of  the  man  with  the  red  knife,  on  the  stairs  ?" 

"Sir  Cramer  Luttrell,  I  suppose!  Oh  yes — it  seems  only  yes- 
terday.   What  a  dear  little  maid  she  was!" 

"And  what  a  dear  little  maid  she  is  still!  I  almost  wish  she 
was  a  dear  little  matron."  And  when  he  says  this,  does  he  say  it 
rather  artificially?  Peggy  feels  annoyed  at  the  way  she  com- 
mitted herself  to  "adopted  daughter."  It  just  comes  to  block  her 
pouncing  on  Charles  with,  "You  fool!  why  not  make  her  one?" 
Charles's  enormous  unconsciousness  of  the  possibility  of  such  a 
suggestion  is  irritating.  To  have  him  reposing  there  with  his  ears 
80  temptingly  within  reach  of  boxing,  and  showing  on  his  face  the 
glow  Alice  lights  in  his  heart,  is  very  irritating  to  Peggy-    But 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  4Y5 

she  remembers  Rupert's  injunction,  and  shows  self-restraint.  Only, 
the  years  are  going  by — ^the  precious  years !  However,  Charles  can 
dwell  on  Alice-for-short,  and  blow  rings  out  of  his  pipe,  and  yet 
talk  of  something  else. 

"But  I  say,  Poggy-Woggy — Sir  Cramer  Luttrell !  Now  I'll  lay 
any  wager  you've  worked  Old  Jane's  tale  of  old  Becky  up  with 
all  the  celebrated  ghosts  and  bedevilments  of  this  mansion,  and 
made  a  regular  Supernatural  Pie." 

"It  doesn't  want  any  working  up,  Charley  darling !  The  pie  is 
already  made.  Perhaps  I  oughtn't  to  say  that  though!  There's 
a  little  uppercrust  wanting  yet." — ^And  then  Peggy  recapitulated 
carefully  all  particulars  of  what  she  and  Juicy  had  heard  from 
Mrs.  Verrinder. 

"It  couldn't  be  Lord  ,"  said  Charles,  "because  his  body 

was  identified  in  the  dead-house  on  the  Simplon  not  so  many  years 
ago.  I  saw  him,  you  know ! — just  a  sort  of  frozen  mumimy.  He  had 
been  twenty  years  in  the  Morgue  when  I  saw  him.  He  had  just 
been  identified." 

"And  how  long  had  he  been  in  the  ice — or  snow  ?" 

"It  could  only  be  guessed  by  the  date  of  his  clothes.  Mind 
you! — ^there  was  nothing  to  identify  him  by — only  a  purse  with  a 
good  lot  of  money  in  the  pocket.  A  fine-looking  man  in  an  English 
George  the  Second  dress — not  a  travelling  dress,  strangely  enough. 
He  had  probably  gone  up  the  moraine  of  the  glacier,  in  company 
with  others  and  had  slipped  and  fallen  in  a  crevasse  and  never 
been  found.    He  may  have  been  there  a  century — any  time !" 

"How  was  he  found  in  the  end?" 

"One  of  the  great  dogs  that  had  been  missed  for  some  days 
came  back  excited,  and  said  (or  as  good  as  said)  that  be  had  found 
something  worth  coming  for.  He  led  the  frates  to  a  nasty  place, 
where  sure  enough  was  a  block  of  ice  some  extra  sun  had  struck 
on,  and  melted  a  comer  away.  And  there  were  four  human  fingers 
with  rings  sticking  out." 

Peggy's  attention  is  arrested  by  the  dog.  It  was  such  a  darling. 
She  would  have  liked  to  be  there  to  kiss  it.  Charles  remarks  that 
she  would  have  found  it  large  and  sloppy.  Peggy,  a  little  dis- 
couraged by  the  sloppiness,  goes  back  to  the  text. 

"But  how  did  they  find  out  he  was  Lord in  the  end  ?" 

"Well!  he  had  got  to  be  one  of  three  or  four  missed  travellers 
recorded  on  the  books  at  the  monastery.  The  question  was  which 
he  was  to  be.  The  only  one  that  answered  at  all  had  evidently 
given  a  false  name — I  hav^t  details,  you  know — only  vague 
recollection " 


476  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

"I  understand.     Go  on!" 

"Then  I  think  it  was  like  this.  There  was  a  careful  drawing  of 
him  showing  his  teeth.  It  was  done  by  a  Dutchman — a  very  care- 
ful drawing.  What  put  the  family  making  the  comparison  I  don't 
know.  But  a  photograph  was  sent  out,  and  it  was  decided  beyond 
a  doubt  that  the  teeth  of  the  skeleton  were  the  teeth  of  the  draw- 
ing. When  I  was  there  they  were  just  going  to  remove  the  remains 
to  England." 

"And  when  was  that,  and  why  did  you  never  tell  me  such  an 
interesting  story  ?"  Charles  says  it  was  when  he  was  abroad  for  a 
fortnight  seven  years  ago.  Peggy  knows  well  what  was  afoot  at 
that  date,  and  asks  no  more  questions. 

"But,  Charley  dear!"  she  says,  "I  do  not  see  why  Lord 's 

coming  to  grief  on  the  Alps  should  interfere  with  old  Becky's 
Btory.  Why  shouldn't  they  both — him  and  this  scandalous  Esther 
Kaimes — have  been  lost  on  the  Alps,  and  she  not  found  ?" 

"Ko  go,  Poggy-Woggy !  She  would  be  on  the  record  as  missing, 
at  the  monastery.  It  isn't  as  if  they  had  gone  on  by  the  diligence. 
They  wouldn't  do  that  and  desert  the  diligence  to  go  Alpineering 
alone.    No,  no ! — she  never  was  there." 

"Perhaps  she  stayed  in  Paris  with  somebody  else.  She  was  quite 
equal !  However,  just  you  wait  till  Alice  is  back  from  Mrs.  Gais- 
ford's,  and  see  if  she  and  I  don't  put  a  finishing-touch  on  the 
Supernatural  Pie.  Why!  just  look  at  the  ring!  There  it  is  on 
the  picture.  Alice's  very  own  ring  to  the  life.  Only,  why  need  that 
fool  clean  away  the  jacinth?  However,  it's  on  the  original  still! 
Now  come  to  tea  and  then  go  back  to  Granny !" 

Alice's  friend  was  Mrs.  Gaisford  the  Hospital  nurse.  Her 
husband  had  renewed  his  efforts  for  the  degree,  and  had  myste- 
riously passed.  He  was  buying  the  house  for  a  private  enterprise 
of  his  own,  and  expected  an  inexhaustible  supply  of  opulent 
lunatics. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

THE  PIE  CREEPS  OX.  HOW  ALICE  SAW  MRS.  KAIMES  AGAIN  AT  NO.  40. 
HOW  CHARLES  AND  ALICE  WENT  TO  SEE  THE  TOWER.  SO  DID  OLD 
JANE  AND  HER  HUSBAND  ONCE.  OF  EXPERIMENTS  WITH  A  WEDDINO- 
RING.  AN  EMBARRASSMENT,  AND  A  DECEPTION.  STILL,  OLD  JANE 
GOES  TO  SLEEP  HAPPY 

Mrs.  Verrinder  added  little  or  nothing  to  her  version  of  old 
Becky's  story.  As  time  went  on  her  recollection  of  the  narrative 
became  less  vivid,  and  more  diffuse.  It  might  have  been  expected 
that,  as  it  died  away,  she  would  cease  to  confuse  between  Alice  and 
the  shadowy  Cynthia  Luttrell.  But  the  contrary  was  the  case;  if 
anything  the  confusion  increased.  No  doubt  this  was  partly  owing 
to  the  accidental  likeness  between  Alice  and  the  portrait  of 
Cynthia,  which  Charles  purchased  of  Mr.  Bauerstein,  and  hung 
beside  the  portrait  of  her  Aunt  Phyllis  in  his  drawing-room  at 
Acacia  Eoad.  There  was  also  an  element  of  added  confusion  in 
Old  Jane's  memory  of  the  Alice  Kavanagh  who  was  some  sort  of 
pensionnaire  or  dependent  of  old  Miss  Luttrell.  Neither  Alice 
nor  Charles  doubted  that  this  person  had  been  mentioned  by  old 
Becky  in  that  interview  of  sixty  years  ago.  But  they  did  think 
that  probably  Old  Jane  had  mixed  her  first  hearing  of  Alice's 
name  with  one  perhaps  nearly  resembling  it.  This  was  much  more 
likely,  surely,  than  that  there  should  have  been  another  Alice 
Kavanagh  in  the  connection.  Old  Jane  herself  assented  to  this, 
saying  very  likely  she  was  mistaken.  This  possible  previous  Alice 
Kavanagh  had  no  interest  for  her — in  fact  only  came  in  acci- 
dentally. 

As  for  the  tales  of  the  disinterred  bones  and  the  frequent  ghosts 
at  No.  40,  they  were  told  to  Old  Jane  as  soon  as  it  appeared  that 
she  was  not  likely  to  add  to  her  reminiscences.  But  she  seemed 
to  have  been  educated  in  a  school  of  incredulity;  phases  of  this, 
and  its  reverse,  pass  over  Society  from  time  to  time.  When  Old 
Jane  was  a  girl  the  stage  of  provisional  receptivity  we  now  live 
in  was  undreamed  of.  It  was  not  then  thought  necessary  to  self- 
respect  to  preface  a  final  rejection  of  superstitious  fancies  with 
any  parade  at  all  of  our  readiness  to  give  them  a  fair  hearing. 
Kontgen  Rays  and  Radium,  Gramophones  and  Wireless  Teleg- 

477 


478  ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 

laphy,  have  produced  the  cautious  sparring  which  helongs  to  the 
second  round  of  a  Fight.  Incredulity  has  had  all  the  bounce 
knocked  out  of  it. 

Old  Jane  came  quite  fresh  from  another  age;  and,  when  con- 
fronted with  Psychical  Research,  was  able  to  enjoy  a  good  ghost- 
story  to-day  for  its  own  sake,  with  a  well-defined  intention  to  dis- 
believe in  it  altogether  to-morrow.  Her  readiness  to  enjoy  and 
forget  it  was  quite  conclusive  against  taking  her  into  council  in 
the  collation  and  classification  of  the  various  items  that  had  to  be 
woven  into  a  consecutive  story. 

Alice  and  Peggy,  therefore,  laid  their  heads  together  undis- 
turbed. They  made  up  their  minds  about  all  the  facts  except  how 
the  ring  came  in  the  beer-jug.  It  looked  as  if  that  must  remain 
a  mystery  for  all  time.  But,  for  the  rest,  it  was  clear  that  the 
ghost  Charles  had  seen  was  Esther  Kaimes  re-acting  her  share  of 
the  terrible  evening  of  the  ball  and  the  duel;  that  probably  she 
was  also  the  lidy  with  the  spots;  and  that  her  remains  were  those 
found  in  the  cellar.  If  this  last  was  so,  the  suggestion  was  very 
strong  that  the  hideous  red  man  with  the  knife  was  her  murderer, 
and  that  an  organised  attempt  had  been  made  by  the  unresting 
spirits  of  the  murdered  sister  and  her  guilty  brother  to  throw  a 
light  on  their  own  misdeeds.  Peggy  revived  the  story  of  Alice's 
father's  deam  (that  he  deamed  he  deamed)  as  a  contribution  to 
this  conclusion.  If  you  have  forgotten  all  about  this,  see  page  111. 
But  the  theory  that  this  dream  was  an  impression  on  the  dreamer's 
mind  of  an  attempt  to  show  what  had  happened  on  the  same  spot, 
involved  the  investigators  in  the  difficult  question  of  how  the  mur- 
derer and  his  victim  came  there.  At  what  hour  of  the  day  or 
night  ?  If  Sir  Cramer  pursued  his  sister  into  this  basement  room 
(as  Alice  supposed),  then  where  were  the  servants?  Even  if  they 
were  unable  to  prevent  the  murder,  or  dared  not  interpose,  their 
presence  would  have  ensured  a  disclosure  in  the  end.  Besides, 
adopting  the  only  means  of  accounting  for  the  ring  in  the  jug, 
namely,  that  Mrs.  Kaimes  to  avoid  detection  dropped  it  in  as  a 
temporary  place  of  concealment,  it  surely  could  not  have  remained 
in  the  jug  undetected.  It  must  either  have  been  noticed,  or  washed 
out  unnoticed.  And  supposing  that  Sir  Cramer  had  overtaken  his 
sister,  and  had  been  convinced  either  by  searching  her  or  by  her 
manner  that  she  had  no  longer  got  it  concealed,  is  it  likely  that  he 
■would  stab  her,  and  cancel  by  her  death  the  only  possible  testimony 
to  its  whereabouts?  But  Peggy  in  her  own  mind  rejected  that 
jug  altogether — thought  it  a  pious  fiction  of  Alice's  mother  on 
Ler  deathbed.     Of  course  the  woman  had  found  the  ring!     But 


ALICE-rOE-SHOET  479 

was  it  in  the  jug?  Might  not  she  and  her  husband  have  disin- 
terred enough  of  the  buried  body  to  find  the  hands  and  remove  the 
rings ;  then  covered  it  up  carefully,  and  concealed  their  own  handi- 
work ?  But,  of  course,  she  could  not  propound  this  theory  to  Alice ; 
it  would  be  too  atrocious  a  burden  of  criminality  to  heap  on  her 
parents'  memory.  Still,  it  recommended  itself  to  her.  Had  not 
the  fingers  been  found  ringless,  while  a  gorgeous  array  of  pearls 
still  hung  about  what  had  been  a  throat?  But  then! — surely  the 
murderer  would  not  bury  the  ring  he  had  been  seeking!  Yes,  he 
might;  fancy  the  horror  of  a  conscience-stricken  man  face  to  face 
with  his  own  deed,  when  the  storm  of  brutal  fury  that  caused  it 
had  subsided! 

However,  speculation,  though  amusing,  was  of  little  avail;  and 
there  was  no  apparent  chance  of  anything  further  coming  to  light. 
Charles  and  Peggy  and  Alice  now  and  again  made  excursions 
among  iwssibilities,  without  getting  any  forwarder. 

The  currents  of  Life  ran  in  their  usual  channels.  Peggy 
wished  two  of  them,  instead  of  running  side  by  side  a  pace  apart, 
to  run  in  the  same.  If  she  took  her  spade  and  just  made  a  start 
for  them  would  it  not  be  possible  to  conduct  them  into  it,  and  rely 
on  the  joint  torrent  running  peacefully  on  till  it  should  be  due 
in  the  eternal  sea?  Oh,  how  her  fingers  did  itch  to  grasp  that 
spade !  But  her  husband  always  dissuaded  her,  and  the  Peggy  who 
of  yore  wanted  to  make  all  the  he-rivulets  and  she-rivulets  run  in 
opposite  watersheds,  underwent  genuine  exasperation  at  the  placid- 
ity with  which  her  brother's  life  seemed  to  flow,  and  the  musical 
ripple  of  Alice's  alongside  of  it — just  within  reach!  It  was 
maddening ! 

Peggy  was  not  at  all  sure  she  was  grateful  to  Mrs.  Verrinder  for 
rising  (so  to  speak)  from  the  tomb  to  help  in  the  constitution  of  a 
home  where  such  a  state  of  things  was  possible.  She  could  not  say 
to  herself  that  she  wished  the  old  lady  was  still  under  that  awful 
dome.  But  she  did  wish  some  asylum  (with  a  small  initial)  coiild 
have  been  found  for  her  other  than  her  brother^s  fireside;  where 
(so  it  seemed  to  Peggy)  the  beautiful  old  silver-haired  image 
tended  to  foster  and  encourage  the  fiction  of  the  adopted  daughter. 
If  Charles  could  adopt  a  grandmother,  why  not  a  daughter? 
Moreover,  although  the  mixing  up  of  the  improper  idea  of  "pro- 
priety" with  either  Charles  or  Alice,  or  bringing  it  into  question, 
was  obviously  absurd;  still,  if  Old  Jane  had  not  been  there,  you 

know  perfectly  well But  at  this  point  Lady  Johnson's  mind 

always  dismissed  the  subject,  and  we  may  do  so  too.  We  know 
perfectly  well! 


480  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

Peggy  and  her  husband  always  spoke  of  it  as  "the  Unsatis- 
factory State  of  Things";  and  it  became  a  definite  entity  with  a 
title,  like  the  Bill  of  Rights  or  the  Protestant  Succession  or  the 
Statute  of  Limitations.  "Any  improvement  in  the  Unsatisfactory 
State  of  Things?"  was  Rupert's  way  of  asking  whether  any  step 
had  been  made  towards  the  resolution  of  what  Peggy  thought 
quite  as  good,  or  as  bad,  as  a  discord.  And  his  wife  would  reply 
that  there  was  not  a  sign  of  any,  unless,  indeed,  her  patience  was 
getting  exhausted,  when  she  would  prefer  "Worse  than  ever!  Oh 
dear — how  trying  they  are!" 

Her  mother  took  up  a  very  well-defined  position — in  fact,  as  Lucy 
phrased  it.  Grandmamma  took  it  up  and  harped  upon  it.  It  was 
one  of  energetic  silence,  to  which  attention  was  frequently  called 
by  the  speechless  one.  "I  shall  say  nothing!" — thus  ran  the  com- 
munication— "Your  brother  Charley  knows  I  shall  say  nothing,  and 
I  say  it.  I  said  nothing  before,  and  I  shall  say  nothing  now. 
Charley  knows  what  came  of  it  before,  and  this  time  he  will  find 
out  too  late,  as  he  did  then,  that  he  had  better  have  listened  to  me. 
But  I  do  not  wish  my  opinion  to  be  qvioted,  and  I  must  beg  that  it 
may  not  be.  Charley  and  Alice  must  just  go  their  own  way.  And 
as  for  old  Mrs.  Verrinder,  I  am  far  from  saying  she  is  not  a  very 
ladylike   person.     But   there   are   limits !      However,   as   long   as 

Charles  and  Alice  are  satisfied "    And  the  speaker  entered  on 

a  career  of  saying,  actively  and  continuously,  nothing. 

This  old  lady  had  taken  very  strongly  to  her  grandson — ^we  think 
we  mentioned  this  when  Charles  and  Alice  passed  those  two  days  at 
her  house  at  Wimbledon,  after  the  smallpox.  We  need  say  no  more 
now  to  make  it  understood  that  when  Pierre  is  not  at  Acacia  Road 
impaling  butterflies  in  a  smell  of  camphor,  cutting  himself  with  new 
tools  and  not  stopping  hammering  directly,  or  explaining  difficult 
technical  points  in  cricket  to  Mrs.  Verrinder,  he  is  either  at  school 
or  at  Oak  Villa  at  Wimbledon,  dictating  new  concessions  from  his 
Grandmother. 

Prom  whichever  cause,  he  was  not  at  home  with  his  father  and 
his  adopted  aunt  (who  should  strictly  have  been  his  adopted  cousin 
— but  never  mind!)  one  day  in  the  September  following  the  April 
in  which  Old  Jane  was  operated  on.  All  the  world  was  out  of  town 
except  a  few  stragglers,  who  seemed  to  have  had  no  reason  for 
coming  back,  unless  it  were  to  establish  a  grievance  against  those 
who  remained  away  for  taking  a  longer  holiday  than  themselves. 
They  could  have  the  double  satisfaction  of  writing,  "Oh,  how  I 
envy  you  those  delicious  sea  breezes!"  and  as  many  other  seaside 
things  as  they  could  think  of,  and  at  the  same  time  thoroughly 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  481 

enjoying  the  delights  of  an  empty  town — a  delicious  vacancy  of 
swirling  dry  leaves  in  unpopulous  squares  and  streets,  of  dis- 
passionate business  transactions  that  you  and  the  other  party  can 
take  your  time  over  because  there  is  no  one  else  waiting,  of  oppor- 
tunities of  dancing  to  piano-organs  in  what  would  have  been  "the 
Traffic"  two  months  ago,  of  undisguised  tendresses  with  the  Bread, 
or  the  Milk,  or  the  Wash,  over  the  Airey-palins.  But  even  the 
joy  of  those  who  stop  in  town  is  as  nothing  to  that  of  those  who 
return,  exuberant  after  sea-bathes  and  prawns,  to  the  fag-end  of 
your  paradise,  and  find  they  have  got  the  Metropolis  all  to  them- 
selves; and  now  they  can  really  get  a  little  work  done  and  not  be 
bothered. 

Charles  and  Alice  belonged  to  the  latter  class.  After  actually 
taking  the  old  lady  successfully  to  Littlehampton,  and  bringing 
her  safely  back,  they  settled  down  to  work.  Alice  wrote  all  the 
morning — rather  in  the  old  lady's  room  than  otherwise,  that  she 
might  listen  to  the  scratching  of  the  pen.  Charles  departed  to  the 
Studio,  where  he  adhered  religiously  to  a  fiction  that  he  was  a 
painter,  and  frequently  had  a  good  clean-up  for  a  start  to-morrow. 
But  he  was  really  all  the  time  "jotting  down"  short  stories  at  a 
penny  a  word;  and  at  this  particular  time  gratifying  his  sense  of 
absurdity  by  writing  a  monosyllabic  story,  with  a  view  to  writing 
a  polysyllabic  one  later.  "You'll  see,"  said  he  to  Alice,  "the  next 
volume  of  this  series  will  be  considered  too  thick."  He  foresaw 
a  time  when  literature  would  be  paid  by  letters  and  spaces,  the 
latter  counting  double,  so  as  to  ensure  the  maximum  of  ideas 
per  line.  Or,  perhaps,  he  said,  words  will  be  paid  for  by  the  gross, 
at  a  special  tariff  for  each  word — for  instance,  him  at  threepence 
a  gros^ ;  her  at  a  shilling ;  love  at  eighteenpence ;  and  regular  good 
plummy  words,  such  as  forever,  evermore.  Sin,  and  so  forth,  at  five 
shillings  to  half-a-sovereign. 

It  was  then  at  the  very  beginning  of  this  September  afternoon — 
ten  minutes  past  twelve,  in  fact — that  Alice  made  her  appearance 
at  No.  40,  in  pursuance  of  an  arrangement  made  at  breakfast  to 
take  Charles  down  the  river  in  a  boat,  and  see  the  Tower.  A  glori- 
ous excursion!  And  Old  Jane  would  be  quite  safe,  because  Mrs. 
Gaisford  was  coming  to  sit  with  her  for  an  hour  or  so  at  tea 
time,  and  stop  on.    So  you  needn't  be  uneasy  about  her. 

At  the  door  Alice  chanced  on  Mr.  Pope,  coming  to  the  Office 
from  the  lower  regions.  He  wished  her  good-morning  rather 
absently,  and  remarked  that  we  didn't  see  much  of  you.  Miss 
Kavanagh,  in  these  parts  nowadays.  Alice  replied  that  that  must 
be  because  Mr.  Pope  was  always  in  his  room  hard  at  work  when  she 


482  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

came,  as  sne  was  there  nearly  every  day.  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Pope 
had  made  his  remark  on  the  very  common  assumption  that  it 
doesn't  matter  what  you  say,  as  long  as  you  say  nothing  else. 
Even  so,  when  we've  got  to  catch  the  'bus  we  remark  that  it's  a 
beautiful  day,  when  it's  really  a  beastly  day;  or  vice-versa.  Mr. 
Pope  was  roused  by  Alice's  reply  to  a  sense  of  his  own  inaccuracy, 
and  implied  an  admission  of  it. 

"I  have  got  my  'ands  pretty  full.  Miss  Kavanagh,  and  that's 
the  truth.  You'd  say  so  if  you  was  to  see  the  amazin*  variety  of 
Martyrs'  heads  we've  knocked  off  and  burned  in  this  last  month. 
Large  West  Window  in  memory  of  St.  Peter  Martyr.  Parties  he 
burned  himself,  turn  and  turn  about  with  medallions  of  opposition 
martyrdoms.  Pretty  idear! — ^Mr.  Chappell  he's  attended  to  his 
side,  me  to  mine." 

"I  don't  understand!  Did  St.  Peter  ever  bum  anybody?'*  Mr. 
Pope  smiled  benignly.  "Not  he!  Knew  better  than  to  'any  such 
thing.  This  was  a  media3vally  disposed  party — Inquisitor  I  believe 
— 'Oly  Office !  You  go  to  the  National  Gallery — there's  a  picter  of 
him  bein'  stuck  through  the  gizzard  in  a  pleasant  champagne  coun- 
try. Would  you  perhaps  care  to  see  some  of  the  'eads?  Got  'em 
on  a  bench  downstairs." 

Alice  was  rather  early,  and  was  not  only  amused  at  the  idea  of 
a  window  commemorating  impartially  the  reciprocal  murders  of 
the  Holy  Catholic  Church  and  its  various  Dissenters;  but,  owing 
to  recently  revived  interest  in  "the  No.  40  ghosts,^  felt  well-dis^ 
posed  towards  a  journey  into  the  basement,  where  she  had  not 
been  for  a  very  long  time.  Even  though  it  would  be  painful  to 
her  to  be  reminded  of  her  parents'  tragedy,  she  would  bear  that, 
in  order  to  revive  the  recollection  of  the  lidy  with  the  spots  and  the 
red  man  with  the  knife.  She  did  not  specially  relish  either,  for 
its  own  sake ;  but  her  curiosity  had  been  aroused  by  the  recent  con- 
versations. So  she  accepted  Mr.  Pope's  suggestion,  and  followed 
him  through  the  swing-door  of  her  youth.  Oh,  how  well  she  re- 
membered the  dreadful  feeling  with  which,  when  she  came  back  from 
School,  or  fetching  the  beer,  she  would  push  it  two  inches  back  and 
call  out,  "Mother !"  And  how  that  worthy  lady  would  set  it  quite 
open  and  say  immediately,  "Now! — don't  keep  me  standin'  here!" 
before  she  had  time  to  pull  her  small  self  together  for  a  start. 

She  did  not  wish  Mr.  Pope,  though,  to  suspect  her  of  any  other 
motive  than  a  desire  for  Martyrs.  So  she  was  careful  not  to  look 
back  or  about  her  on  the  way  down  to  the  workshop. 

The  heads  of  the  Martyrs  were  impartially  mixed  up  on  the 
leading-up  bench,  and  Mr»  Pope  picked  them  up  one  by  one  to  show 


'ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  483 

against  the  light.  "'Eads  of  Eidley  and  Latimer" — ^thus  ran  his 
commentary. — "Interestin'  countenance!  'Ead  of  an  Albigence. 
All  belongin'  to  my  side.  'Ead  of  Joan  of  Arc — Mr.  Chappell's 
department.  I  call  it  appealin'  to  the  Gallery.  St.  George,  sim'lar 
remark! — St.  Lawrence — St.  Barbara.  All  Mr.  Chappell's — Butti- 
f ant !  Where's  that  superb  bit  of  ruby  you  cut  for  the  flames  in 
No.  7— Latimer?" 

"Sorry  to  say,  Mr.  Pope,  it's  been  broke  in  two,  and  we  shall 
have  to  jine  it  up  with  a  string-lead." 

Mr.  Pope  turned  quite  red  with  vexation.  "Now  Mr.  Buttif  ant, 
what's  the  meaning  of  this?"  said  he. 

"You  must  ask  Mrs.  Corrigan  that.  Sir,"  replied  Buttifant,  with 
a  suspicion  of  satisfaction  in  his  manner.  "It  ain't  my  fault  if 
she's  allowed  down  here.  I've  spoke  my  mind  free  enough !"  Some 
explanation  followed,  touching  on  the  water-supply.  Mrs.  Cor- 
rigan had  to  be  allowed  the  run  of  the  basement,  in  this  connec- 
tion. If  you  let  her  come  in  here  to  draw  water,  how  could  you 
prevent  her  meddling,  when  as  like  as  not  it  was  six  in  the  morn- 
ing ?  Of  course  she  just  went  smashing  round,  like  an  earthquake, 
with  nobody  to  prevent  her.    Thus  Buttifant. 

"What  does  she  say  herself  ?"  said  Mr.  Pope.  Alice  looked  round, 
fully  expecting  to  see  Mrs.  Corrigan,  about  whom  she  had  a  strong 
impression  that  she  had  followed  Mr.  Pope  and  herself  down- 
stairs. This  impression,  which  she  could  not  assign  its  origin  to, 
•was  so  strong  that  (although  she  regarded  herself  as  quite  outside 
the  discussion)  she  could  not  help  commenting  on  the  absence  of 
the  expected  image  of  Mrs.  C.  prefacing  a  guilty  person's  defence 
with  obeisances,  and  not  impressing  the  jury  favourably.  "Well, 
but — she  was  here  only  just  this  minute.  She  came  down  behind 
us."  Mr.  Pope  hadn't  seen  her.  But  she  must  have  been  there, 
clearly.  "Some  of  you  young  jokers  just  stir  your  stumps  and  find 
her,"  says  Mr.  Buttifant  to  the  apprentice  world  generally.  But 
Mrs.  Corrigan  is  not  in  the  basement  now,  whatever  she  was  two 
minutes  since,  and  the  young  jokers  report  accordingly.  One  of 
them  seems  to  have  something  on  his  mind,  not  necessarily  a  joke, 
to  communicate,  and  Alice  says  "What  ?"  to  him,  to  encourage  him. 
Pope  also  adds,  "Speak  up,  young  Deaf  and  Dumb  Asylum," 
which  seems  to  Alice  a  severe  treatment  of  mere  respectful 
hesitation  before  seniors.  It  causes  the  hesitation  to  vanish, 
however. 

"There  was  a  lady  come  down.  Not  Mrs.  Corrigan.  A  lady! 
Behind — behind — behind" — ^this  hesitation  is  produced  by  the  obvi- 
ous xudeness   of  calling  Alice  "you"   to  her  face.     Ultimately 


484  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

"Behind  Madam" — is  decided  on.  Perhaps  tiae  speaker  has  a  friend 
or  brother  in  a  draper's  shop. 

"Behind  me!"  says  Alice,  looking  round  uncomfortably.  "Like 
what  ?    What  was  she  like  ?" 

"Couldn't  say.  Miss!    But  she  was  a  lady " 

"She  must  have  been  like  something.    Was  she  like  me  ?" 

Two  of  the  jokers  seem  to  have  noticed  the  lady,  and  the  one  who 
has  spoken  refers  to  the  other.  After  consultation,  to  Alice's  sur- 
prise, both  nod  assent.  Mr.  Pope  is  impatient.  "Don't  you  believe 
either  of  'em.  Miss  Kavanagh.  They're  only  guessin'.  Couple  of 
everlastin'  young  humbugs!" 

But  it  is  in  the  nature  of  that  strange  animal,  the  uneducated 
Englishman,  to  be  hopelessly  incapable  of  direct  narrative,  under 
circumstances  of  peaceful  interchange  of  ideas.  He  requires  the 
stimulus  of  a  grievance,  or  the  desire  to  prove  a  friend  a  liar,  before 
his  tongue  will  unloose  itself.  No  sooner  has  Mr.  Pope  put  the 
matter  on  a  disagreeable  footing,  than  the  young  humbugs  find 
their  voices.  The  speaking  one,  a  freckled  boy  with  a  red  head, 
to  whom  contention  appears  congenial,  extends  an  indignant  palm 
(with  his  case  on  it,  presumably)  towards  Buttifant,  as  the  inter- 
mediary through  whom  a  sense  of  wrong  undeserved  may  be  con- 
veyed, even  from  a  drummer-boy  to  a  Field-Marshal. 

"It  ain't  only  me!"  he  cries,  indignantly.  "You  ask  young 
James!  He  seen  her  as  well  as  I  did.  He's  here  to  ask!  You 
ask  him.  He  won't  tell  you  no  lies.  Spots  of  hink  on  her  face  and 
a  piller  of  wool  on  her  head." 

"I  see  the  ink." 

"Ah,  and  you  see  the  wool." 

"It  warn't  wool.    More  like  scruffy  hair !" 

"You  see  it  though,  whatever  you  call  it !" 

"Oh  yes — I  see  it,  plain  enough!" 

"Wot  did  I  tell  you  ?  Young  James  he  see  it — and  I  see  it.  And 
you  can  tell  the  guv'nor  I  see  it."  The  freckled  boy  retires  into 
private  life  to  caress  his  grievance,  and  pushes  things  about  irrita- 
bly. Buttifant  doesn't  see  his  way  to  anything  further,  and 
devotes  himself  to  the  Martyrs.  Mr.  Pope  says  it's  queer,  and 
you  can't  account  for  things — a  view  which,  carried  far  enough, 
would  undermine  Physical  Science.  Alice  thinks  she  won't  stop 
any  longer  because  she  believes  Mr.  Heath  may  be  waiting  for  her. 
Whether  Mrs.  Corrigan  got  blown  up  or  not  we  really  cannot  say. 

"My  dearest  child,  how  white  you  look!"  said  Charles  as  Alice 
came  in.  He  was  just  finishing  the  twelfth  thousand  of  the  mono- 
syllables, and  fancying  the  polysyllables  would  be  a  lot  easier. 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  485 

"So  would  you,  Mr.  Charley  dear,  if  you  were  me!  Just  fancy! 
The  lidy  with  the  spots  came  downstairs  behind  me  ?" 

"Down  what  stairs  ?  Did  you  see  her  ?" — Thus  Charles,  and  Alice 
tells  the  tale.  When  she  has  done,  Charles  says  that  as  she  came 
in  she  quite  reminded  him  of  herself  when  she  was  frightened  by 
the  red  man  with  the  knife,  and  wouldn't  have  any  cake.  When 
she  was  a  small  kid.    Alice  can  recollect,  perfectly. 

Charles  and  Alice's  voyage  down  the  river  (after  lunch  at  Cre- 
moncini's;  for  which  we  have  given  them  time)  and  visit  to  the 
Tower,  was  an  ideal  experience.  Escapades  of  this  sort  are 
always  delightful;  but  when  you  have  a  little  extra  ghost  to  talk 
about,  what  can  you  want  more?  They  certainly  wanted  nothing 
more.  There  was  no  drawback — unless  it  was  that  in  one  corner  of 
Charles's  mind  was  a  recollection  of  the  same  excursion  with 
another  companion  fifteen  years  before.  The  doubt  whether  it  was 
pleasant  or  painful  was  worse  than  the  certainty  of  the  latter 
would  have  been.  It  seemed  cruel,  all  the  same,  to  brush  it  out 
of  his  mind,  and  let  the  present  supersede  it  so  completely.  His 
old  vice  of  self-examination  was  at  work.  Alice  couldn't  eon- 
tribute  consciously  to  the  brushing  out,  but  she  was  the  uncon- 
scious cause  of  it  in  the  end.  For  an  intrusive  thought  (which 
seemed  brutal  to  "poor  Lavinia")  of  how  different  it  would  seem  to 
Alice's  husband,  under  like  circumstances,  drove  Lavinia  and  her 
languid  interests  out  of  her  widower's  mind,  and  substituted  an 
image  that  he  tried  not  to  think  a  discomfort. 

Alice's  husband!  There! — of  course — Charles  wasn't  blind! 
Of  course  he  knew  quite  well  it  was  going  to  be  a  wrench,  when  it 
came.  How  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  Alice-f or-short ! — ^just  think  of 
it,  after  all  these  years!  But  then,  consider  the  child's  own  wel- 
fare !  It  had  to  be  seen  to,  of  course,  that  this  vague  husband-in-a- 
mist  should  turn  out  resplendent,  flawless,  chivalrous,  distin- 
guished— a  man  among  men.  Dear  us!  If  the  women  we  love 
could  wed  the  only  men  we  would  be  glad  to  give  them  up  to,  what 
very  perfect  husbands  they  would  have ! 

If  the  slightest  suspicion  of  the  absurdity  of  the  way  he  classed 
Alice  crossed  Charles's  mind  as  he  watched  a  beautiful  young 
woman  (who  was  Alice)  looking  down  the  river  from  near  the  fore- 
end  of  the  boat,  it  was  only  for  the  moment ;  he  did  not  see  her  face, 
and  the  individuality  was  less  forcible.  She  might  have  been  any 
other  well-finished  girl  of  five-and-twenty.  And  Peggy  might  have 
been  pairing  off  her  lonely  brother  with  her  every  bit  as  much  as 
if  she  had  been  Miss  Everitt  Collinson.    But  when  Alice  returned 


486  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

to  where  Charles  was  sitting  smoking,  and  brought  back  her  ani- 
mated face  with  the  clear  blue  eyes,  the  mouse-coloured  hair 
touched  with  chestnut,  a  little  wind-blown  on  the  forehead,  the  row 
of  unimpeached  pearls  between  the  lips  that  nobody  ever  kissed 
apparently  (if  that  slight  defacement  round  the  comer  was  where 
people  always  kissed  you) ;  when  in  short  she  came  back  her  very 
own  self — why,  clearly  then  she  was  Alice-for-short,  and  not  a  real 
person  that  could  be  met  in  Society  and  mustn't  on  any  account 
go  out  without  gloves.  And  Alice-for-short  she  was  going  to 
remain,  as  far  as  Charles  could  have  any  jurisdiction.  Because, 
according  to  him,  when  Alice  was  standing  gazing  over  the  boat's 
prow  at  a  pernicious  tug-boat  that  was  snorting  down  the  river,  one 
abreast,  and  belching  out  solid  black  like  a  cuttle-fish,  an  old 
chap  was  enjoying  a  pipe  a  few  yards  off,  and  picturing  to  himself 
a  glorified  home  that  was  to  be  Alice's,  and  what  a  satisfaction  it 
would  be  to  the  old  chap  to  talk  over  Alice's  happiness  with  his 
sister,  and  what  a  resource  it  would  be  to  him  to  have  "Alice's"  to 
go  to  when  he  felt  lonely,  and  smoke  a  pipe  with  her  paragon  of  a 
husband !    Certainly. 

A  consciousness  of  Peggy,  inside  Charles's  mind,  seized  upon 
this  point,  and  asked  him  point-blank,  "Why  did  you  say  'Cer- 
tainly' ?  Couldn't  you  be  glad  to  smoke  a  pipe  with  that  admirable 
Mr.  Alice  without  ratification  ?"  His  mind  wriggled  uneasily,  and 
evaded  th?  question.  It  had  the  effrontery  to  begin  thinking  of 
his  first  wife ;  to  caress,  as  it  were,  his  widowerhood,  and  confirm  his 
position.  He  was  an  old  chap,  clearly.  However,  here  was  Alice 
back  again  talking  about  the  little  extra  ghost. 

"He  was  an  odious  boy,  with  freckles  and  a  bullet  head — a  kind 
of  boy  that  always  tells  lies " 

"Boys  of  that  sort  can't  see  ghosts." 

"Of  course  they  can't!  It  stands  to  reason.  But  the  other  boy 
was  a  dear  little  black-eyed  chap.  He  was  speaking  the  truth, 
Tm  sure." 

"But  if  boy  number  one  always  tells  lies,  and  swears  to  the  same 
ghost  as  boy  number  two,  who  always  tells  truth,  the  two  tales 
neutralise  one  another  to  a  nicety,  and  there  warn't  any  ghost  at 
all !  This  teaches  us  the  absurdity  of  believing  in  the  supernatural, 
and  the  advisability  of  distrusting  our  own  judgment,  and  putting 
faith  in  everybody  else's " 

"Now  you're  talking  nonsense,  Mr.  Charley.  Only  I  like  you 
when  you  talk  nonsense.    Do  be  serious  though,  just  for  a  minute!'* 

But  the  sun  was  sparkling  on  the  water,  and  the  tide  was  at 
the  full,  and  determined  to  enjoy  itself  thoroughly  until  it  was 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  48t 

obliged  to  go  out,  like  a  Cabinet  whose  days  are  numbered.  And 
the  boat  was  being  turned  astarn,  and  going  too  far,  and  then 
going  on  ahead  easy,  and  going  too  far  the  other  way,  and  refusing 
to  hear  reason  and  lie  up  alongside  at  the  suggestion  of  a  little 
bell  amidships.  And  we  were  being  exhorted  to  concentrate  our 
mind  on  getting  out  tickets  ready.  So  Charles  and  Alice  put  ofE 
the  minute  they  were  to  be  serious  in,  and  got  ashore  packed  tight 
between  backs  in  front  and  fronts  behind,  and  at  last  escaped  along 
Great  Tower  Street,  and  were  soon  enjoying  decapitation  with 
Lady  Jane  Grey,  and  the  advantages  of  the  rack  with  Guy  Fawkes. 
Whereupon  Charles's  mind  went  back  to  the  day  when  he  and  Jeff 
went  to  seek  out  Verrinder,  and  encountered  a  very  poor  read- 
ing of  the  great  conspirator,  whose  mask  had  to  be  held  on  by 
Catesby. 

**Well,  Mr.  Charley!"  said  Alice,  who  was  examining  Guy's  sig- 
nature before  and  after  torture,  "/  don't  see  anything  to  laugh 
at."  Charles  explained  the  smile  his  recollection  had  provoked;  of 
course  his  doing  so  recalled  Verrinder.  Alice  went  off  at  a 
tangent. 

*1  hope  Mrs.  Gaisford's  wrong,"  said  she,  suddenly. 

"Wrong  about  what?" 

"About  the  old  lady.  She  thinks  she  might  slip  off  at  any 
moment,  quite  suddenly." 

"She's  very  old.  Any  little  thing  might  do  it — a  slight  cold-^ 
an  attack  of  bronchitis." 

"Mrs.  Gaisford  thinks  she  might  die  simply  of  old  age,  with 
hardly  any  warning." 

"I  suppose  she  might,"  said  Charles,  "I  suppose  she  might." 
But  the  thought  of  losing  Old  Jane  (you  may  think  it  strange  to 
say — but  we  do  not,  altogether)  had  made  them  both  so  sad  that  it 
needed  a  particularly  hideous  dungeon,  with  inscriptions  on  the 
wall  written  by  those  who  had  languished  there  for  years,  while 
the  sun  shone  overhead,  to  make  them  forget  it  and  feel  cheerful 
again. 

At  the  end  of  expeditions  of  this  sort  people  get  silent  and 
thoughtful,  and  even  go  to  sleep  in  the  cab  home.  Neither  Charles 
nor  Alice  did  this,  but  both  were  very  contemplative,  in  different 
ways. 

Charles  was  thinking  to  himself  how  more  than  strange  it  was  that 
that  Verrinder,  whom  he  had  seen  first  before  the  dawn  of  Alice- 
for-short,  was  even  then  a  heartbroken  watcher  for  the  return  of  the 
mysterious  thing  called  Life  to  a  brain  which  never  opened  to 
receive  it;  that  the  woman  he  waited  for  in  vain  through  all  those 


488  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

years  was,  even  now,  expecting  them  at  home;  and  what  a  very 
funny  thing  it  was  that  Guy  Fawkes,  of  all  people  in  the  world, 
should  have  taken  his  mind  back  to  Verrinder,  during  a  pleasure" 
excursion  with  a  little  girl,  who  at  that  time  when  he  iirst  saw  him, 
was  bringing  home  the  beer  from  publics  round  the  corner.  There 
was  no  end  to  the  rumness  of  things,  clearly. 

Alice  was  wondering  to  herself  what  would  happen  if  Old  Jane 
were  to  go  out  suddenly,  like  the  gas  all  over  the  house  the  other 
day,  when  Pierre,  in  the  course  of  scientific  research,  turned  it 
off  at  the  main.  The  question  had  a  twofold  meaning  for  her. 
One  way  it  meant: — How  much  will  you  and  Mr.  Charley  miss 
the  dear  old  silver  hair  and  patient  musical  voice?  the  other,  how 
will  her  death  affect  your  residence  at  Mr.  Charley's  ?  Alice  could 
answer  the  first  question,  both  for  herself  and  Charles,  The  second 
was  more  troublesome.  It  did  not  connect  itself  with  Mrs. 
Grundy  in  the  least.  It  was  entirely  a  matter  of  Charles's  com- 
fort ;  never  was  unselfishness  more  absolute  or  less  egotistic.  There 
was  no  trace  in  it  of  the  spirit  of  aggressive  self-sacrifice  which 
runs  a  debtor  and  creditor  account  with  God,  and  usually  makes 
false  entries  on  both  sides.  It  was  simply  resolvable  into  sub- 
inquiries,  such  as: — "If  I  stop  on,  will  it  come  in  the  way  of  Mr. 
Charley's  marrying,  and  being  really  happy?"  or,  "If  I  go  away, 
will  Mr.  Charley  be  properly  attended  to,  and  not  be  put  off  with 
•underdone  loin-of-mutton  much  too  fat,  and  watery  potatoes?" 
Then  came  a  twinge  of  doubt  that  had  never  crossed  her  mind 
before: — "After  all,  my  stopping  on  and  making  the  place  com- 
fortable may  be  bad  for  Mr.  Charley,  even  if  Old  Jane  is  there." 
Conceivably,  Miss  Everitt  Collinson,  or  some  equivalent  benefit, 
might  come  to  pass  more  readily  if  she,  Alice,  were  out  of  the  way. 

All  this  while,  mind  you,  she  was  quite  aware  that  there  was  a 
mauvais  quart  d'heure  in  store  for  her  when  her  final  surrender  of 
all  rights  in  Mr.  Charley  should  come,  and  he  should  be  carried 
away  by  Miss  Everitt  Collinson,  or  Miss  or  Mrs.  Somebody-Some- 
thing, anyhow!  Did  it  much  matter  who — it  would  be  all  one  to 
Alice?  Her  mind  raised  a  slight  involuntary  protest  against  the 
exclusion  of  the  possibility  that  she  might  keep  some  of  Charles, 
for  all  he  found  a  real  wife  elsewhere.  But  it  gave  up  the  point 
after  a  perfunctory  effort.  There ! — it  wouldn't  be  the  same  thing, 
and  it  was  no  use  pretending.  If  Mr,  Charley  had  a  Mrs,  Charley, 
when  would  Alice  get  a  ride  alone  with  him  in  a  Hansom  ?  Nobody 
really  enjoys  riding  bodkin.  And  think  how  long  ago  it  was  that 
Alice  had  her  first  ride  in  a  Hansom  with  Mr,  Charley.  Oh  no  I 
If  Mrs.  Charley  was  in  the  Hansom,  she  would  wish  them  as  pleaa' 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  489 

ant  a  ride  as  hers  was  now — ^but,  as  for  bodkin,  not  if  she 
knew  it! 

Perhaps  we  are  all  wrong  in  our  interpretation  of  little  girls,  or 
women,  but  we  certainly  believe  that  most  of  them  would  have  felt 
exactly  as  Alice  did.  The  only  difference  we  can  surmise  between 
what  she  felt  now,  and  what  she  felt  when  as  a  mere  baby  she  tried 
to  put  a  spoke  in  the  wheel  of  Charles's  foolish  wedding,  is  that 
then  she  said,  "Oh,  Mr.  Charley,  don't  go  away  from  us."  Whereas 
now,  she  might  have  said,  "from  me."  But  we  don't  vouch  for  it, 
because  we  don't  know. 

Whatever  Alice  would  have  thought,  under  circumstances 
which  had  not  arisen  so  far,  her  thoughts  in  this  present  Hansom 
had  to  come  to  a  close.  For  the  delightful  ride  which  ended  the 
delightful  excursion  did  so  on  its  own  account;  and  Charles  and 
Alice  were  on  the  doorstep  at  Acacia  Road,  saying  well ! — they  had 
had  a  delicious  time! 

Priscilla  the  handmaid  was  on  the  watch,  and  just  in  time  to 
make  the  door-bolt  overshoot  Charles's  latchkey;  a  thing  he  said 
always  tried  his  temper.  But  they  were  very  late,  and  she  and 
cook  had  wanted  Mrs.  Verrinder  and  Mrs.  Gaisford  to  have  dinner 
and  not  wait.  They  preferred  waiting,  and  Mrs.  Verrinder  was 
asleep  in  the  drawing-room.    They  looked  in  at  her. 

"She  really  is  wonderfully  pretty,"  said  Alice  to  Mrs.  Gaisford, 
^'but  we  must  look  alive  for  dinner,  Mr.  Charley.  It's  awfully 
late!"  Whereupon  Mrs.  Gaisford  said:  "Don't  hurry  on  my 
account — I  shall  catch  my  train,"  in  a  tone  which  clearly  meant — 
do  hurry !  I  shall  lose  my  train. 

So,  when  the  coffee-stage  arrived,  it  was  natural  that  Mrs.  Gais- 
ford should  pull  out  her  watch  and  apparently  see  written  on  its 
face  that  it  would  take  her  three-quarters  of  an  hour  to  get  to 
Victoria  and  the  train  was  nine-forty.  Alice  went  away  with  her 
to  find  her  things.    They  had  only  time  for  three  words. 

"I  expect  it  will  be  as  I  said,"  said  Mrs.  Gaisford,  through  a 
safety-pin  she  was  holding  in  her  mouth :  "She'll  go  on  a  bit  longer 
— perhaps — but  one  day  she'll  go  out — like  the  flame  of  a  candle. 
You  needn't  be  uneasy  about  her !"  Alice  thought  this  very  incon- 
sequent, but  it  was  just  like  Mrs.  Gaisford.  She  was  always  like 
that.  "All  the  same  she  may  live  to  be  a  hundred.  She  was  talk- 
ing very  funnily  about  you — I  must  run!  It's  the  last  train 
to-night,  and  it  won't  do  to  miss  it.  Good-bye!"  and  off  went 
Mrs.  Gaisford.  After  raising  Alice's  curiosity  she  left  it  unsatis- 
fied. "Never  mind,"  said  Alice  to  herself,  and  went  back  to  finish 
her  coffee  in  the  drawing-room.     She  could  hear  the  old  musical 


490  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

voice  talking  on  to  Charles  as  she  opened  the  door.  It  interrupted 
itself : 

"Is  that  my  darling  Cynthia?  I  was  just  saying  to  your  hus- 
band, my  dear,  that  John  and  I  went  to  the  Tower.  We  had  to  get 
tickets.  And  we  saw  all  the  things  you've  seen  to-day.  Only  we 
didn't  go  in  this  queer  boat  thing  you've  been  down  the  river  in. 
Fancy  steam  engines  on  board  a  boat!  Wliy  doesn't  it  sink  I 
They're  all  made  of  iron,  and  it  must  be  such  a  weight !" 

The  only  effect  produced  by  the  old  lady's  misdescription  of 
Charles,  was  that  Alice  looked  up  at  him  in  an  amused  interroga- 
tive way,  and  he  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders.  If  they  had 
been  a  pending  couple,  not  quite  ripe  but  very  touchy  and  sensitive, 
it  might  have  been  embarrassing.  They  let  it  pass  unnoticed,  and 
Old  Jane  continued : 

**I  suppose  it's  right,  making  all  these  railways  and  things.  But 
there  were  none  when  I  was  with  John — ^none  in  London,  Fm  sure. 
It's  all  very  strange !  We  did  very  well  without  them  then.  When 
John  and  I  went  off  to  Scotland — we  ran  away,  you  know,  to  get 
married — we  went  in  the  stage-coach.  We  went  a  deal  faster  than 
these  trains,  as  you  call  them."  She  disbelieved  altogether  in  the 
speed  of  railways,  treating  speed  as  a  kind  of  abstract  idea — a 
thing  timetables  and  mileage  had  no  bearing  on.  *'I  was  a  wilful 
girl,  and  I  suppose  we  did  what  was  wrong.  But  my  father  turned 
against  John,  and  then — ah,  dear!" — it  was  always  when  she  spoke 
of  her  father's  quarrel  with  her  husband  that  her  voice  showed 
most  distress.    Alice  tried  to  get  her  mind  off  him. 

"But  you  did  go  to  the  Tower,  like  us  ?" 

**0h  yes! — and  then  we  took  a  little  boat,  and  a  man  rowed  us 
down  the  river,  and  we  saw  a  great  West  Indiaman  going  into 
the  docks.  It  was  a  beautiful  sunshiny  day,  only  it  came  on  a 
ehower,  and  wetted  us  through.    But  we  didn't  mind,  John  and  I !" 

"We  didn't  go  in  a  little  boat,"  said  Alice.  "Another  time  we 
must.    This  time  we  shouldn't  have  had  time  enough." 

"We  had  plenty  of  time — all  day!  We  went  off  early  in  the 
morning,  with  sandwiches.  Some  with  mustard  and  some  with- 
out— for  me,  because  I  didn't  like  mustard.  And  we  lived  all  day 
long  on  them  and  penny  buns  and  ginger-beer.  And  when  we  got 
home — ^past  twelve  at  night — there  was  nothing  to  eat,  because  a 
cat  had  been  in  the  larder.    But  we  didn't  mind,  John  and  I !" 

Her  thoughts  were  back  in  the  days  of  youth  and  strength  and 
confidence.  When  she  was  first  resuscitated,  those  days  had  seemed 
like  yesterday.  As  she  slowly  absorbed  the  facts  (that  is,  if  she  reallj* 
did  absorb  them)  the  long  years  that  had  elapsed  began  to  tell ;  and 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  491 

thongli  statements  in  figures  could  have  had  little  meaning  for  her^ 
and  she  was  still  far  short  of  grasping  them,  she  understood  the 
position  better  than  even  Charles  or  Alice  had  expected.  Some- 
thing of  a  need  of  apology  for  her  slowness  seemed  to  be  hanging 
in  her  mind  now,  nevertheless. 

"You  know,  darling  Cynthia,"  she  went  on,  "and  I  know  I  ought 
to  know,  how  very  very  long  ago  it  is.  But  it  is  so  hard  to  think  it. 
If  I  let  myself  forget,  it  grows  to  be  the  other  day  that  we  bought 
my  new  Irish  poplin  and  John  wanted  it  made  without  flounces. 
And  it  was — how  many  years  ago,  my  dear — you  say?" 

"More  than  fifty !"  said  Alice.  And  Charles,  who  had  been  very 
silent,  repeated  her  words.  Something  seemed  to  have  made  him 
very  grave  and  dreamy. 

"More  than  fifty — more  than  fifty."  Old  Jane  repeated  it 
several  times.  "But,  oh,  how  little  tise  words  are !  It  seems  as  if 
it  could  not  be!  Why,  it  really — really — scarcely  seems  a  day 
since  my  dear  John  pulled  the  bell  too  hard  in  our  little  sitting- 
room  at  Stoke  Newington  and  the  rope  came  down  and  knocked 
my  wedding-present  off  the  mantelshelf  and  broke  it.  It  was  a  little 
Dresden  China  shepherdess  old  Miss  Luttrell  gave  me — we  called 
it  my  wedding-present  because  it  was  the  only  one  we  had — it  and 
the  little  shepherd  in  a  three-cornered  hat,  playing  on  a  pipe.  We 
called  it  John's  wedding-present,  John  mended  up  the  shepherd- 
ess with  glue.  Only  the  other  day!"  Alice  had  drawn  her  chair 
close  to  the  old  lady,  and  put  her  arm  on  the  cushion  the  old 
silvered  head  lay  back  on,  with  the  eyes  half-closed.  She  stroked 
the  white  locks  responsively,  but  would  not  trust  herself  to  speech. 
Old  Jane  talked  on  quietly;  there  was  no  audible  pang  in  her  voice. 
It  was  a  quiet  musical  ripple. 

"There  was  a  tumbler  knocked  down  too,  with  John's  grog  in 
it — I  had  just  made  it,  only  Elizabeth  hadn't  brought  the  sugar." — 
She  seemed  to  be  looking  at  her  hand,  spreading  and  closing  the 
delicate  finger-tips. — "I  can  almost  hear  my  husband's  voice  now, 
saying,  'Don't  cut  your  pretty  hand,  dear  love,'  because  I  stooped 
to  pick  up  the  glass.  And  then  Elizabeth  came  in,  and  I  said 
bring  another  glass  and  the  sugar-basin." 

She  kept  on  looking  at  her  hand,  and  moving  the  slack  wedding- 
ring  up  and  down  on  the  finger.    In  a  moment  she  resumed : 

"And  do  you  know,  darling? — (I  am  old  now  and  it  doesn't  mat- 
ter !) — I  thought  to  myself  what  a  pretty  hand  it  was.  And  I  said^ 
I  really  did,  dear ! — I  said,  'Yes,  Sir !  see  what  a  pretty  hand  I  have 
given  you!  And  much  you  deserve  it!'  But  you  know,  darling 
Cynthia,  that  was  my  joke.    Eor  I  loved  John  dearly  I    I  used  to 


492  AXICE-rOR-SHOKT 

call  him  John  Anderson,  my  Jo !  It  was  a  song  there  was  then — 
about  'your  locks  are  like  the  snow' — I  should  like  John  to  see 
mine,  now — 'John  Anderson,  my  Jo !'  "  She  still  dwelt  on  her  hand, 
and  taking  Alice's  in  her  other  one,  placed  the  two  left  hands  side 
by  side,  comparing  them. 

"Yes,  dear  Cynthia,  you  may  find  it  hard  to  believe,  but  my  pretty 
hand  then  was  like  your  pretty  hand  now !  And  now — look  at 
mine !"  Alice  wanted  to  say  how  pretty  it  was  still.  But  the  words 
stuck  in  her  throat.  Charles  did  nothing  to  reinforce  her;  rather 
the  contrary! 

"Oh,  my  darling,  what  is  it  ?  See  now — that  is  stupid  me !  Just 
think — that  I  should  set  you  off  crying  with  all  this  melancholy 
talk !"  But  Alice  collected  her  self-possession,  the  more  easily  that, 
tears  having  been  publicly  spoken  of,  she  could  now  produce  a 
pocket-handkerchief  without  disguise.  When  it  had  retired  to  its 
lair  again,  she  kissed  Old  Jane,  affectionately,  but  did  not  feel 
loquacious. 

"You  are  really  so  much  younger  than  me,  dear,  that's  why!" 
said  Old  Jane.  She  seemed  to  mean  that  youth  could  not  look 
death  in  the  face  as  old  age  can — or  something  to  that  effect.  Also, 
she  seemed  to  imply  that  the  strange  thing,  on  the  face  of  it,  was 
Alice's  youth,  not  her  own  age.  Every  one  is  normal  in  his  own 
eyes.  Alice  felt  she  must  try  to  say  something,  if  only  to  convince 
herself  of  her  own  self-control.  She  pulled  off  her  own  ring — 
the  celebrated  ghost's  ring,  as  Lucy  called  it. 

"You  ought  to  have  a  guard-ring,"  she  said,  "to  keep  yours  on. 
Like  this." — And  she  slipped  it  on  Old  Jane's  finger,  outside  the 
gold  ring.  But  Old  Jane  said  it  was  just  as  sloppy,  and  one  would 
have  to  be  made.  You  see,  they  were  talking  so  unlike  people  in 
books ! 

"Now,  Cynthia  darling — just  to  please  me,  see!  You  try  my 
ring  on  your  finger."  Alice  took  the  gold  ring,  and  was  about  to 
put  it  on  her  wedding-finger,  when  the  old  lady  interposed.  "No — 
no!"  said  she,  "that  will  never  do!  Most  unlucky!  Mr.  Charley 
must  put  it  on  that  hand.  You  must  only  put  it  on  the  right." 
Alice  thought  this  was  some  funny  old-world  superstition  she  did 
not  know,  and  slipped  the  ring  on  her  right  hand. 

"Of  course,"  added  Old  Jane,  "I  should  have  liked  it  on  the 
other  hand.  Because  it  would  have  looked  just  like  mine  that  day ! 
But " 

Alice,  with  the  most  perfect  simplicity  and  unconsciousness, 
withdrew  the  ring  from  her  right  finger  and  held  it  out  to  Charles. 
Old  Jane  interposed  again. 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  403 

"No— no !    That's  unlucky  too." 

"Nonsense  unlucky!  Stick  it  on,  Mr.  Charley,  and  have  done 
■with  it!"  Thus  Alice,  and  out  goes  her  wedding-finger  proper 
towards  Charles.  He  has  been  very  grave  and  quiet  for  some  time. 
Now  he  speaks. 

"I  think,  darling  girl,  that  perhaps — perhaps  you  don't  quite 
understand  what  Mrs.  Verrinder  meant."  He  comes  and  sits  on 
the  other  side  of  Mrs.  Verrinder,  and  speaks  to  her  by  her  name, 
gently  and  affectionately. 

"Dear  Kate,  I  am  afraid  you  have  got  a  false  idea  about  me  and 
Alice.  I  am  not  going  to  marry  Alice,  and  Alice  is  not  going  to 
marry  me " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Charley  dear,  what  a  silly  old  goose  you  are !"  Alice  has 
flushed  scarlet,  and  her  pulse  has  gone  up — very  much  up !  "Dear 
Kate!  she  never  thought  any  such  nonsense.  Do  tell  her,  Mr. 
Charley !" 

"You  tell  her,  Alice!"  This  was  mean.  You  see,  the  fact  is 
Charles  had  not  the  dimmest  idea  what  he  was  going  to  say.  Alice 
might  try  her  hand. 

"You   don't  understand,  dear  Kate.     It's  not  like  that.     Mr. 

Charley  and  I  are — Mr.  Charley  is — well!  it's  quite  different " 

And  Alice  doesn't  feel  that  she's  scoring.  Charles's  delicacy  is  in 
terror  lest  any  form  of  disclaimer  should  be  interpreted  into  some- 
thing dreadful,  and  feels  he  must  clear  the  position. 

"Alice  was  a  baby  when  I  knew  her  first " 

"And  picked  me  out  of  the  filthy  street  and  the  area  full  of 
cats  and  my  bedroom  near  the  water  coming  in,  and  took  me  home 
to  Mother  Peg,  and  saved  me!  Yes — my  dear — my  dear — you 
did!"  Alice  is  getting  excited,  but  excitement  may  not  be  good  for 
Old  Jane,  and  she  sees  her  way  out  easiest  by  turning  all  to  a  joke. 
She  remembers  Charles's  letter  Sister  Alethea  read,  and  the  stolen 
turkeys,  and  winds  up :  "And  instead  of  that,  suppose  I  was  to  go 
and  marry  you !    Poor  Mr.  Charley !" — 

Charles  is  just  going  to  avail  himself  of  the  proffered  exit 
through  laughter,  when  he  is  stopped  by  the  tears  he  sees  running 
down  Old  Jane's  cheek.  During  the  attempted  explanation  she  has 
been  looking,  puzzled,  from  one  speaker  to  the  other.  Now  she 
herself  speaks, 

"Oh  no!  oh  no! — it  isn't  true.  You  are  only  joking  with  me. 
But  do  not — do  not !  Oh,  do  tell  me  truly — are  you  not,  you  two — 
are  you  not  to  be  married — to  be  made  man  and  wife  ?"  She  keeps 
looking  from  one  to  the  other.  The  position  she  has  placed  them 
in  is  a  convolution  of  embarrassments. 


494  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

Alice,  coBfronted  for  the  first  time  with,  the  problem  of  her  own 
relations  with  Charles,  which  from  childhood  she  has  always  taken 
for  granted,  thinks  first  and  foremost  of  his  difficult  position,  and 
how  she  shall  best  extricate  him  from  it.  She  thinks  of  saying: 
*'I  love  Mr.  Charley  so  dearly  that  I  certainly  wouldn't  marry  him 
on  any  account.  He  must  marry  somebody  he's  passionately 
attached  to,  etcetera."  But  what  an  idea!  Fancy  trusting  Mr. 
Charley  with  an  admission  of  that  sort!  He'd  order  a  ring  at 
once,  if  it  was  Alice-for-short,  even  if  he  was  head-over-ears  in 
love  with  two  or  three  duchesses.  Then  she  thinks  how  would  it  be 
to  say,  "I  hate  Mr.  Charley  so  that  nothing  would  induce  me,"  and 
turn  it  off  as  a  joke.  But  she  is  not  certain  the  joke  would  avert 
the  further  discussion  of  the  point,  and  besides! — the  silver  hair, 
the  beseeching  look,  the  trembling  hands  still  holding  hers  and 
Charles's — how  could  a  joke  be  thought  of,  much  less  spoken  ?  She 
is  sorely  puzzled  what  to  say.  But  she  is  always  full  of  intrepidity 
and  resource,  is  Alice !  An  idea  crosses  her  mind.  She  knows  Old 
Jane's  hearing  is  not  equal  to  a  sotto-voce,  and  she  speaks  across 
her  quickly,  under  her  breath. 

"Can't  yon  think  of  anything  to  say?" 

"'No  I  whatever  I  think  of  seems  wrong." 

"Then  do  as  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Charley,  and  ask  no  questions.  Pre- 
tend we're  engaged,  for  her  sake!" 

"For  her  sake  ?"  Alice  nods.  She  stoops  over  the  old  wrinkled 
face,  and  kisses  it  affectionately. 

"Dear  Kate !  don't  cry — I  will  tell  you.  We  mean  to  be  married, 
one  day — ^me  and  Mr.  Charley — ^when  we're  in  the  humour.  And 
we'll  tell  you  all  about  it  when  we  loiow  ourselves.    There  I" 

An  expression  of  perfectly  seraphic  rapture  illuminates  the  old 
face.  "Oh,  my  darlings,"  she  says,  "I  was  right.  I  was  right.  And 
it  will  be?" 

"Oh  yes — one  day  I    But  we  are  very  happy  as  we  are." 

"And  you  will  be  happier  yet — as  John  and  I  were." 

Alice  had  to  admit  to  herself  that  her  adventure  had  been  a  rash 
one.  She  had  not  had  time  to  consider  the  consequences.  It  was 
not  only  that  the  old  lady  was  sure  to  talk,  whatever  promises  of 
secrecy  she  might  make,  but  that  she  herself  felt,  tlie  moment  that 
Old  Jane  gave  way  to  her  delight  at  the  announcement,  that  she 
was  not  really  prepared  to  play  out  her  part  in  the  drama.  She 
could  have  simply  made  her  misstatement,  and  there  an  end.  But, 
to  have  to  face  the  constant  recurrences  that  might  be  expected, 
and  to  supply  the  little  inventions  that  would  certainly  be  called 
for!     How  about  that?     And  worse  still,  how  about  meeting  Mr. 


AUCE-FOE-SHORT  496 

Charley  to-moTrow  morning?  Just  for  to-night,  and  for  an  expe- 
dient, it  didn't  matter  -what  nonsense  -we  talked !  But  how  about 
the  cold  light  of  day?  It  would  never  be  possible  to  keep  discreet 
silence  on  the  subject  by  mntual  consent.  That  would  breed  a  sub- 
consciousness; that  would  never  do.  It  might  even  undermine 
them — Alice  shuddered  to  think!  And  if  it  was  bad  for  her  it 
would  be  worse  for  him.     See  what  she  had  done  I 

At  the  same  time,  what  was  the  alternative?  Sticking  to  the 
truth,  and  letting  the  dear  old  thing  break  her  poor  heart  over  it  ? 
A  pretty  choice  1  Ko — she  could  rub  the  unselfishness  of  the 
motive  into  Mr.  Charley,  and  square  it  all  up  that  way. 

These  reflections  passed  rapidly  through  Alice's  mind,  probably 
in  some  modified  form  through  Charles's  also,  as  they  stood  by  the 
old  lady,  neither  liking  to  withdraw  the  hand  she  held;  both  at  a 
loss  what  to  say  next.  Presently  her  own  fingers  relaxed,  and  she 
remained  perfectly  motionless  with  her  eyes  closed — so  motionless 
that  Charles  thought  she  had  fainted.  But  she  had  not.  It  was 
only  the  sudden  sleep  possible  to  old  age  and  low  vitality. 

^She's  all  right,"  said  Alice,  after  examination.  "Very  little 
pulse — ^but  it's  there!  She  ought  to  have  something.  There's 
some  brandy  in  the  cellaret  of  the  sideboard."  But  before  Charles, 
who  went  immediately  to  get  it,  returned,  the  old  lady  opened  her 
eyes  and  drew  a  long  breath.  *'I  must  have  dropped  asleep  for  a 
minute,"  she  said;  "I  wonder  whether  I  was  dreaming  or  not,** 
and  then  seemed  to  become  partially  nnconscious  again. 

"Oughtn't  we  to  send  for  Shaw?"  said  Charles.  Shaw  was  the 
local  medical  resource.  But  at  the  sound  of  his  name  the  old  lady 
roused  herself.  "No — don't  send  for  any  doctors  for  me,"  she  said, 
not  without  asi>erity,  "I  shall  be  best  in  bed." 

She  tried  to  get  on  her  feet,  but  succeeded  so  ill  that  Charles 
settled  the  matter  by  picking  her  up  like  a  baby — she  was  almost 
a  featherweight — ^and  carrying  her  tenderly  to  her  room.  Alice  sum- 
moned Priscilla,  and  the  two  of  them  got  her  to  bed.  Then  she 
became  wakeful  and  remembered  the  events  of  the  evening  clearly. 
So  Alice  decided  on  sitting  with  her  till  she  slept;  Charles  on  a 
final  pipe,  and  made  himself,  as  Alice  requested  him  to  do  so, 
scarce. 

"My  darling,"  said  Old  Jane  when  she  was  comfortably  settled, 
and  Priscilla  had  waned,  "I  can't  tell  you  how  happy  you  have 
made  me.  I've  been  thinking  that  it  was,  and  thinking  that  it 
wasn't,  off  and  on — off  and  on !  And  then  when  I  heard  your  cab 
back,  something  made  me  fancy  it  was,  for  certain.  Then  I  sup- 
pose I  said  something  and  you  both  thought  I  thought  you  were 


496  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

going  to  be  married  at  once.  Of  course  I  meant  in  the  end.  But 
now  it's  all  quite  right,  and  I  shall  sleep  and  wake  quite  happy." 

"Do  you  dream  much,  dear  Kate  ?" 

"Yes,  a  great  deal.  It's  always  me  and  John.  There's  one  dream 
I  dream  over  and  over  again.    We  are  walking  about  in  those  pretty 

Paddington  fields,  and  he  calls  me  Miss just  as  he  used  to 

do  at  first.  Because  that  was  before.  We  went  there  again  though. 
Only  this  particular  dream  is  always  before.  And,  oh  dear!  I  can 
smell  the  May  blossom,  and  hear  the  singing  of  the  birds.  We 
heard  a  nightingale,  I  know.  Oh  yes!  I  dream  that  dream  over 
and  over  again."  Alice  felt  the  lump  in  her  throat,  and  for  reply 
only  stroked  the  speaker's  hand,  as  it  lay  on  the  coverlid.  Old 
Jane  went  on,  speaking  more  with  pleasure  than  pain — with  per- 
fect self-command  at  any  rate. 

"We  walked  more  than  six  miles,  John  said.  I  daresay  the  fields 
are  not  so  pretty  now.  We  went  all  round  by  Westbourne  Green 
and  the  Grand  Junction  Canal,  and  saw  a  barge  go  through  the 
lock,  and  all  the  water  bubbling  up.  How  we  did  enjoy  it,  that 
day!  I  shall  never  enjoy  anything  again  so  much.  .  .  ."  There 
came  a  little  pause,  giving  the  idea  (to  Alice  at  least)  that  she 
had  remembered  her  age,  and  was  reflecting  that  future  enjoyment, 
if  any,  must  needs  be  elsewhere. 

"Cynthia  darling,  do  you  know  what  I  should  really  like,  instead 
of  going  to  Heaven  when  I  die — because  you  know,  dear,  they  may 
want  me  to  go  to  Heaven,  and  John  might  not  be  there — ^I  don't 
think  he  believed  in  anything  at  all — do  you  know  what  I  should 
like — really — if  I  could  have  my  own  way  ?" 

"No!  what,  dear?" 

"Why,  I  should  like  to  die  in  my  sleep,  just  in  the  middle  of 
that  dream.  Only  to  have  the  dream  go  on.  Because  the  smell  of 
the  May — in  the  dream — and  the  singing  of  the  birds — and  oh, 
the  sunlight !    Now  you  go  to  bed,  dear.    I  shall  sleep." 

She  turned  her  head  again  and  closed  her  eyes,  but  left  her  hand 
still  on  the  coverlid.  Alice  said  good-night;  kissed  her  again,  and 
left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XLVn 

BUT  SHE  DOES  NOT  WAKE,  THIS  TIME.  AND  SHE  DIED  UNDER  A  DELUSION. 
NOW  SUPPOSE  IT  HAD  BEEN  TRUE  !  HOW  CHARLES  MET  HIS  BEAU- 
PERE  IN  THE  REGENTS  PARK.  THE  WITCHES  IN  MACBETH.  A  LET- 
TER OF  MISS  STRAKER's.      HOW  IT  ALICE  HERSELF ? 

Alice  herself  slept,  unmistakably.  Only,  owing  to  her  general 
arrangement  about  being  called  in  the  morning,  it  was  very  late 
indeed  before  she  waked.  For  her  system  was  that  Priscilla  should 
remain  in  abeyance  until  she  rang  her  bell,  and  should  then  appear 
with  hot  water.  This  plan  of  life  had  been  established  with  a  view 
to  its  inevitable  corollary;  that,  however  early  Alice  rang,  the  hot 
water  should  be  ready  for  delivery.  In  fact  it  was  only  the  corol- 
lary in  disguise — a  palatable  way  of  introducing  it,  to  avoid 
unpleasantness. 

So  when  she  awoke  at  nearly  nine  o'clock,  she  said  good  gracious 
how  late  it  was,  and  pulled  the  bell  violently.  Not  because  she 
supposed  the  hot  water  would  come  any  quicker  on  that  account, 
but  as  a  foretaste  of  compensating  alacrities  to  come.  Let  no  rash 
retainer  presume  on  an  exceptional  delinquency  like  this! 

"What  is  it  by  downstairs?"  said  she  to  Priscilla  as  she  opened 
the  shutters.  And  Priscilla  replied,  'Tive-and-twenty  to.  Miss." 
Kine  understood. 

"Oh,  well!  that's  not  so  bad  as  I  thought.  Is  Mr.  Charles 
down  ?"  He  had  been  down  an  hour,  and  was  writing  in  the  draw- 
ing-room. Very  well  then — say  breakfast  in  ten  minutes,  and  Alice 
would  be  ready  by  then.  And  tell  cook  not  to  boil  the  eggs  too 
hard.    Yesterday  they  were  not  eatable, 

"Am  I  to  wake  Mrs.  Verrinder,  Miss?" 

"Certainly  not.    Is  she  sound  asleep  ?" 

"Oh  yes,  Miss — quite  sound!" 

Alice  was  so  preoccupied  with  the  difficult  task  of  getting  through 
ablutions  and  into  garments  in  ten  minutes,  that  she  did  not  notice, 
or  postponed  noticing,  that  Priscilla's  question  was  unusual.  Gen- 
eral instructions  interdicted  Mrs.  Verrinder  ever  being  waked,  at 
all;  in  fact  Charles  and  Alice  (fortified  by  Sir  Rupert)  regarded 
much  sleep  as  likely  to  prolong  life,  and  quite  invaluable  to  the 

497 


498  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

old  lady.  It  was  not  until  Alice  had  broken  the  back  of  her  toilette 
and  was  combing  out  her  hair,  that  her  mind  went  back  on  the 
fag-end  of  her  conference  with  Priscilla,  and  then  detected,  retro- 
spectively, some  kind  of  uncertainty  in  her  last  words.  Had  she 
gone  too  far  in  taking  for  granted  that  stupidity  would  account 
for  anything  and  everything  Priscilla  said  or  did?  She  stopped 
combing  a  moment  with  a  thoughtful  face,  then  hurriedly  pidled  on 
slippers  and  a  sort  of  peignoir  or  tea-gown,  and  went  out. 

Priscilla  and  cook  (imusual  again)  were  standing  at  Mrs.  Ver- 
rinder's  door  conversing  in  an  undertone.  They  looked  frightened 
and  Priscilla  said,  "Here  she  is !" — as  though  they  had  been  speak- 
ing of  her. 

"Has  Mrs.  Verrinder  rung  ?" 

"No — ^Miss !"  Alice  glanced  at  the  speaker.  Cook.  Her  replying, 
instead  of  Priscilla,  who  stood  silent,  was  contrary  to  routine — 
an  invasion  of  Priscilla's  provLnca 

"Hare  you  been  into  the  room?"  Alice  asked.  And  Cook  again 
replied,  "Yes,  l^Iiss."  Priscilla  remained  silent.  Alice  waived 
explanation,  and  pushing  the  door  gently  open,  looked  in.  Only  for 
two  seconds;  for  almost  immediately  she  closed  it,  and  turning  ran 
quickly  downstairs  to  the  drawing-room,  where  Charles  was  writ- 
ing. He  turned  as  she  entered  and  saw  something  was  wrong. 
"Another  ghost,  dear  ?"  he  said,  jokingly. 

"I  want  you  to  come  upstairs  at  once.    Come  now !" 

"How  white  the  child  looks !  I'll  come,  darling."  But  she  looked 
as  if  she  might  fall,  and  Charles  passed  his  arm  round  her.  "Oh 
no !  I'm  all  right,"  she  said.    But  she  leaned  on  him,  too ! 

He  paused  an  instant  at  the  stairfoot,  and  glanced  round  in  her 
face.  "Old  Jane!"  he  said,  interrogatively.  She  nodded,  and  they 
went  upstairs. 

On  the  landing  were  Cook  and  Priscilla,  as  before.  Both  wera 
crying,  as  though  the  short  interim  had  made  things  clearer  to 
them.    They  followed  Charles  and  Alice  into  the  room. 

The  old  hand  that  Alice  had  held  the  night  before  still  lay  where 
she  had  left  it  on  the  coverlid;  but  what  it  had  of  colour  then,  was 
gone.  It  might  have  been  alabaster.  The  old  face  that  looked  so 
happy  to  Alice  as  she  said  farewell  to  her  was  almost  as  white  as 
the  hair  upon  th&  brow.  But  for  that,  what  Charles  and  Alice  both 
knew  at  once  was  Death  might  have  been  sleep.  So  little  had  the 
lips  parted,  so  nearly  did  the  eyelid  stiU  close  over  the  glazed  eye, 
that  it  would  have  been  hard  to  say  wherein  what  was  now  left  of 
Old  Jane  differed  from  what  had  been  Old  Jane  in  her  half- 
century  of  living  Death  in  the  Asylum.    But  no  one  who  had  seen 


ALICE-EOK-SHOET  499 

and  noted  Death  that  is  really  dead,  could  have  doubted  for  a 
moment  that  the  end  had  come.  For  a  short  half-year — no  more ! — 
she  had  stepped  from  the  tomb  into  the  light;  and  now  the  dust 
would  return  to  Earth  as  it  was,  as  the  Spirit  had  returned  to  God 
who  gave  it.  But  neither  Alice  nor  Charles,  if  thought  took 
shape  thus  as  they  stood  by  the  motionless  form  that  had  moved 
and  spoken  for  them  so  few  hours  before,  coidd  have  gone  further 
■with  the  Preacher,  and  said  that  all  was  Vanity.  Had  not  Old 
Jane,  in  that  brief  span  of  time,  wound  herself  round  the  hearts 
of  both  ?  And  what  was  the  meaning  of  it  all  ? — of  the  thread  that 
was  now  broken — of  the  memory  that  would  remain?  All  was  not 
.Vanity,  preach  whoso  might !  So  long  as  Love  itself — the  mystery 
of  all  mysteries — shall  remain  unsolved,  there  is  an  immeasurable 
music  beyond  the  octave-stretch  forlorn  of  our  fingers,  an  unfath- 
omable ocean  beyond  our  little  world  of  pebbles  on  the  shore. 

Alice's  nurse-experience  had  taught  her  all  the  minor  duties  liiat 
■weigh  us  down  in  the  presence  of  Death — all  the  "things  that  have 
to  be  done."  She  knew  them  better  than  Cook  or  Priscilla,  who 
went  away  to  provide  some  necessaries,  after  a  few  words  of  in- 
etruction.  Having  given  these  Alice  returned  to  Charles,  who 
after  writing  a  few  words  for  Priscilla  to  take  to  Mr.  Shaw  the 
medical  man,  had  come  back  into  the  room,  and  stood  looking  at 
the  seeming-sculptured  effigy  upon  the  bed.  He  placed  his  arm. 
round  her  again,  as  it  had  been  before.  She  found  her  voice,  in  a 
whisper  almost. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Charley  dear!  To  think  that  she  was  here  with  us — 
less  than  ten  hours  ago — and  now !" 

"And  now  we  don't  know  what  to  think." 

*'No,  nobody  does!  I  was  thinlcing  what  shall  we  do  ^bout  her 
wedding-ring?    It  will  come  oS  when  they  move  it." 

"Tie  something  round  her  finger." 

"No,  I  won't.  I'll  put  it  on  my  own  finger  till  .  .  .  well!  she 
did  last  night,  you  know." 

"All  right,  darling.  I  don't  object  You  can  put  it  back 
after." 

Alice  asked  pardon  in  her  heart,  as  she  stooped  over  the  old  white 
face,  and  kissed  the  ivory  brow.  The  hair  still  felt  as  it  would  have 
felt  yesterday.  She  drew  the  ring  from  the  finger — ^how  easily  it 
came  off! — and  placed  it  on  her  own  hand  behind  the  Ghost's 
ring.  But  it  brought  back  the  evening  before  so  vividly,  that  she 
was  fain  to  hide  her  sobs  on  Charles's  shoulder.  Cook  and  Pris- 
cilla wouldn't  be  back  for  a  minute  or  two.    His  arm  closed  round 


600  ALICE-FOR-SIIOKT 

her,  as  his  free  hand  caressed  the  loose  hair  that  had  only  been 
half -combed. 

"Poor  little  Alice-f or-short !"  said  he.  But  it  would  have  puzzled 
any  one  to  say  if  it  was  a  father  or  a  lover  that  spoke.  Con- 
ceivably the  latter,  seeking  reinforcement  for  a  spurious  paternity 
in  the  name  bestowed  on  Alice's  babyhood,  preserved  through 
Alice's  girlhood.    Or  possibly,  he  did  not  know  himself. 

Alice  felt  happier  for  her  torrent  of  tears;  but  though  she  dried 
her  eyes,  she  did  not  dissociate  herself  from  him,  but  looked  up  in 
his  face  with  something  on  her  mind.  The  clear  blue  eyes  gazed 
into  his  through  the  last  of  the  shower,  and  the  hands  Old  Jane's 
were  once  so  like  folded  themselves  on  his  shoulder  as  the  fingers 
of  the  left  moved  on  the  third  finger  of  the  right  over  Old  Jane's 
wedding-ring.  It  was  that  that  kept  taking  her  mind  back  to  the 
evening  before. 

"It  does  seem  such  a  shame!"  said  she  at  last. 

"What  seems  a  shame,  darling?" 

"Why!  To  think  that  the  last  thing — the  very  last  thing  of  all 
when  we  were  together — ^you  and  she  and  I — ^was  a  deception!" 

"What  was  the  deception  ?" 

"When  we  said  let's  pretend — all  that.  It  wasn't  you,  dear  Mr. 
Charley,  I  know.  It  was  I  did  it — nobody  but  me.  And  she  believed 
it  all  and  never  knew  it  was  pretence!  I  felt  so  guilty  up  here 
when  she  said  how  happy  it  made  her." 

Whether  it  occurred  to  Charles  then  that  he  might  say,  as  an 
infallible  logical  sequence,  "Then  why  not  make  it  a  reality?"  we 
do  not  know.  But  if  it  did,  we  feel  certain  he  dismissed  it  at  once. 
The  serene  unconsciousness  of  that  aspect  of  the  matter  in  the  blue 
eyes  that  looked  up  again  so  trustingly  at  him  as  their  owner 
pleaded  guilty  to  her  duplicity;  the  evident  retention  by  that 
duplicity  and  that  only  of  the  foreground  of  her  mind,  completely 
forbade  any  reference  to  a  selfish  aspect  of  the  case  on  either  part. 
The  predominant,  indeed  the  only  aspect,  for  Alice,  was  that  her 
last  intercourse  with  her  old  dead  friend  had  been  soiled  by  a  decep- 
tion on  her  part.  Charles  could  never  avail  himself  of  a  false  con- 
text of  ideas ;  he  accepted  Alice's  thought  of  the  matter  as  the  only 
one  possible — the  only  ground  on  which  it  could  be  discussed. 

'"What  made  her  happiest  was  best,  wasn't  it  ?"  he  said.  "Don't 
grieve  about  that,  dearest  little  Alice.    What  does  it  matter  ?" 

Alice  dried  her  eyes.  "I  daresay  it's  only  a  fancy,"  said  she, 
"but  one  does  have  fancies! — I  would  sooner  everything  I  said  to 

her  had  been  true "     Alice  was  interrupted  by  the  advent  of 

the  doctor,  knockless  but  with  musical  boots.    Priscilla  had  left  the 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  601 

street-door  on  the  jar.  She  and  Cook  were  throwing  their  whole 
souls  into  averting  slams,  outflanking  rings,  and  making  under 
their  breath.  Cook's  attitude  appeared  to  Alice  to  consist  of  imper- 
fectly digested  reminiscences  of  correctitudes  elsewhere.  An 
unwarranted  Prayer-book  that  lived  normally  in  a  soup-tureen  on 
the  dresser  was  seen  by  Alice  in  the  Tea-Anhydride  on  the  little 
wooden  table  in  the  kitchen.  It  was  not  on  service;  a  mere  imple- 
ment of  bereavement.  The  doctor's  verdict  was  soon  given;  and 
then,  his  function  discharged,  he  went  his  way. 

If  Charles  had  ever  contemplated  straining  Alice's  words  to  a 
meaning  she  had  not  seen  in  them,  he  must  have  felt  glad  now  that 
he  did  not  do  so.  Her  detachment  from  any  such  meaning  was 
absolute.  She  would  sooner  everything  she  said  had  been  true! 
And  what  she  had  said  was  that  he  and  she  were  to  be  man  and 
wife.  But  though  Charles  could  not  jump  at  a  misinterpretation, 
to  gain  an  end  he  had  never,  so  far,  dreamed  of  as  possible,  he  could 
repeat  over  her  words  to  himself,  as  he  went  in  to  town  to  give 
directions  for  the  funeral.  He  was  to  meet  Alice  at  Harley  Street, 
where  she  would  go  at  once  after  she  had  got  things  settled  at  the 
house.  But  there  was  no  hurry,  and  he  wanted  a  walk.  He  walked 
across  Regents  Park  repeating  to  himself  Alice's  words :  "She  would 
sooner  everything  she  said  had  been  true !" 

Ah!  Now  suppose — only  suppose — he  had  been  the  young  man 
who  crossed  this  greensward  sixteen — seventeen — years  ago,  instead 
of  the  old  man  he  had  elected  to  think  himself  now!  Or  rather, 
the  worn-out,  used-up,  spoiled,  disfranchised  man,  who  could  not 
offer  an  unsullied  love  (according  to  his  own  romantic  notions)  to 
any  woman.  But  suppose  it!  Just  for  once!  Let  Imagination 
loose — give  her  the  bit  in  her  teeth!  And  then,  suppose! — how  if 
everything  that  Alice  had  said  had  been  true?  Charles's  heart 
quickened  as  his  blood  ran  riot  in  his  veins — as  it  mounted  to  his 
head.  He  went  dizzy  with  the  idea — the  dream  of  a  happiness 
almost  too  intoxicating  to  be  borne! 

Just  conceive  it !  If  the  words  could  have  meant  what  he  knew 
they  could  not  mean,  that  she  would  rather  it  had  been  true  that 
they  were  to  be  man  and  wife !  Shut  your  eyes  to  think,  Charles ! 
Yes!  squeeze  your  fingers  on  them  if  that  is  any  help — to  think 
what  that  would  mean  for  all  the  days  to  come  that  you  have  left 
of  life ;  of  the  life  you  have  chosen  to  think  of  as  a  dried  leaf  hang- 
ing to  its  stem  till  the  winter  shall  sweep  it  away.  What  would 
that  sweet  impossible  reality  really  be? 

Charles's  dizziness  was  so  genuine  a  vertigo,  that  he  actually 
stopped  and  dropped  on  a  park  seat  to  collect  himself  for  a  moment 


502  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

— to  unthink  his  dangerous  thoughts.  Might  not  this  sort  of  thing 
disturb  his  existing  relation  with  Alice — ^his  most  precious  pos- 
session, and  substitute  nothing  for  it?  Ahsit  omen!  Shake  it  ofE 
and  have  done  with  it ! 

The  seat  had  another  occupant;  a  previous  one.  Had  Charles 
been  in  a  mood  to  examine  and  observe  he  would  not  have  sat  down 
beside  him  so  easily.  He  was  a  Park -waif  of  the  dingiest  type 
possible;  all  the  dingier  that  each  and  all  of  his  mouldy  garments 
cried  aloud  that  it  had  been  black  and  respectable  once,  and  in 
Bome  mysterious  way  laid  claim  to  having  always  been  worn  by  its 
present  owner.  Oftenest,  the  miserable  nondescript  that  hangs 
about  the  parks  is  clothed  in  a  style  more  eclectic  than  any  known 
to  the  Arts  in  their  very  latest  Periods.  His  coat  may  cry  aloud 
that  long  ago  it  was  an  Archdeacon's,  and  that  its  present  owner 
is  a  layman;  his  trousers  that  they  once  adorned  a  Buck,  in  the 
days  when  they  had  all  their  buttons;  a  Buck  six  inches  longer  in 
the  legs.  His  hat  may  have  been  touched  by  a  Groom  in  the  days 
of  its  glory,  and  his  boots  may  have  been  'bespokes'  for  anybody, 
except  himself.  Then  you  probably  discern  that  he  never  was  any 
good,  and  are  not  impressed  that  he  has  seen  better  days,  or  de- 
served them.  But  with  Charles's  decayed  neighbour  it  was  other- 
wise. Charles  decided  on  the  better  days  at  once,  and  against  the 
deserts  inamediately  after;  then  followed  a  misgiving  that  he  had 
seen  the  face  before,  the  depraved  old  face  that  insisted  alike  on  its 
claim  to  belong  to  the  respectable  and  the  criminal  classes.  It 
was  possible  that  it  might  be  the  Reverend  Theophilus  Straker, 
Lavinia's  father,  sent  to  the  iravaux-forces  by  a  French  eourt-of- 
law,  twenty  years  before;  convicted  since  in  England  of  what  the 
newspapers  call  blackmail,  and  the  French  police  chantage,  mean- 
ing thereby  extortion  of  money  by  disgraceful  threats;  living 
always,  as  Charles  had  well  known,  even  when  subsidising  the  old 
Frenchwoman,  his  wife,  after  her  daughter's  desertion,  on  what  he 
could  extract  by  complaints  or  threats  from  the  one  or  the  other. 
It  was  so  possible  that  it  was  he,  that  Charles  immediately  rose 
to  walk  away.  He  thought  as  he  did  so  that  he  heard  the  words, 
"Stop,  Sir !"  but  he  went  on  without  noticing.  Then  the  other  began 
shouting  after  him,  "Mr.  Charles  Heath — Mr.  Charles  Heath !" 

It  was  just  the  hour  of  the  morning  when  the  Park  is  at  its 
fullest — late  enough  for  complete  enjoyment  of  the  autumn  morn- 
ing; too  early  for  absence  at  limch.  People  were  passing,  and 
Charles  turned  back.  The  old  reprobate  evidently  meant  to  compel 
him  to  stop  by  attracting  the  attention  of  passers-by,  and  there  was 
ILO  saving  what  device  he  might  not  resort  to.    Besides,  on  second 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  503 

thoughts,  was  it  not  possible  he  might  know  something  about 
Lavinia's  last  days?  It  was  not  in  Charles's  nature  to  expel  alto- 
gether from  his  mind  the  memory  of  a  past  love.  The  draught  had 
turned  to  wormwood,  but  was  it  not  once  wine — ^wine  from  the 
grapes  that  had  ripened  in  the  sun  of  his  early  days  ?  And  had  not 
he  and  she  rejoiced  in  their  sweetness,  and  dreamed  no  foretaste  of 
the  bitterness  in  store  ?  He  turned  back  and  sat  down  again  beside 
his  respectable  father-in-law. 

*'You  were  in  too  great  a  hurry,  mon  gendre!"  Charles  knew 
he  would  try  to  be  as  irritating  as  possible  and  resolved  not  to  be 
irritated.    He  replied  with  perfect  equanimity. 

"I  was  not  anxious  to  recognise  you,  Mr.  Straker.  But  if  you 
have  anything  to  say,  I  will  hear  it." 

"You  talk  easily,  mon  gendre.  You  talk  as  a  man  talks  who  has 
slept  all  night  in  a  warm  bed,  warm  sheets — warm  blankets — a 
pillow  for  the  head !  A  man  who  has  had  hot  coffee  en  famille — hot 
coffee — buttered  toast! — Eugh!"  The  sound  he  made  through  his 
closed  teeth,  and  a  sort  of  gn^in-glare,  cannot  be  spelled.  It  com- 
bined pity  for  himself  with  resentment  against  Charles. 

"Where  do  you  suppose  I  have  slept,  Mr.  Charles  Heath  ?  When 
do  you  suppose  I  shall  break  my  fast?  I  will  tell  you.  I  evaded 
the  park-keepers  last  night  when  they  closed — lay  hid.  I  slept  on 
the  grass — what  sleep!  I  was  thawing  in  the  sun — like  a  frozen 
snake,  Sir ! — when  you  came  by.  A  man  thaws  slow  on  an  empty 
stomach.  Oui  vraiment! — hier  j'ai  dine  par  coeur!"  Charles 
remembered  that  this  man  had  been  a  preacher — (in  fact,  a  very 
famous  one  in  a  puny  world) — and  he  could  be  eloquent  in  English 
as  well  as  in  French.  Probably  he  was  lying.  Had  he  really  had 
no  dinner  yesterday? 

"I  am  sorry  you  have  got  your  deserts,  Mr.  Straker.  But  come 
to  the  point.    How  much  money  are  you  going  to  ask  me  for  ?" 

"Enough  to  pay  for  the  breakfast  I  have  not  had  yet,  A  pint 
of  coffee — such  coffee !  Stale  bread  rechauffe  a  I'eau,  and  hutterine 
kept  over  from  yesterday — kept  under  the  firm's  bed,  I  should  say. 
You  had  fresh  butter  this  morning,  mon  gendre?" 

"I  believe  so — I  don't  remember  taking  any."  In  fact,  Charles'iw 
morning  meal  had  been  a  mere  form. 

"Madame  would  remember — Madame  I'epouse.  Cette  fille  char^ 
mante  que  j'ai  vu  promener,  toujours  au  bras  de  Monsieur—, 
toujours  en  carrosse.  I  saw  you  and  your  pretty  wife — mais  comma 
elle  est  gentille! — in  a  Hansom  yesterday.    Yes,  mon  gendre!" 

Charles  could  not  tell  why  it  was  that  his  mixing  of  French  and 
English  should  make  him  more  irritating;  probably  he  himself 


604  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

hardly  noted  which  he  was  using.  But  so  it  was.  He  had  hard 
work  to  reply  quietly:  "That  young  lady  is  not  my  wife."  Mr. 
Straker  broke  into  an  offensive  laugh. 

"Ho — ho — ho!  M'sieur  Charles!  Not  your  wife?  Et  puis,  de 
qui  est-elle  I'epouse?  De  quelqu'un  qui  n'a  pas  su  bien  garder  le 
seragli?  Monsieur  Charles — Monsieur  Charles — d'un  honneur  si 
delicat!    I  say,  Mr.  Charley,  I  say-y!    Clck!" 

And  the  foul  creature  made  a  clucking  sound  to  express  mutual 
understanding  in  enjoyment  of  wickedness.  He  half-closed  one 
eye  over  the  upper  side  of  a  twisted  grin,  and  tapped  his  nose  in 
furtherance  of  his  position. 

Charles  was  unable  to  endure  him  any  longer.  He  started  to 
his  feet  scarlet  with  anger,  and  seizing  the  reverend  gentleman 
by  the  collar,  in  spite  of  his  strong  reluctance  to  touch  it,  shook 
him  to  and  fro  until  his  disreputable  old  head  vibrated  on  his 
shoulders.  It  was  not  an  act  of  prowess;  and  Charles  often  felt 
ashamed  when  he  thought  of  it  afterwards.  But  he  was  irritated 
beyond  all  bearing. 

The  old  miscreant  gathered  himself  together  on  the  grass,  where 
Charles  had  flung  him;  and  sat  muttering  curses,  not  too  audibly. 
A  repetition  might  be  feared. 

There  were  very  few  people  close  at  hand  at  the  moment — two 
ladies  who  were  frightened  and  took  to  their  heels — some  boys 
who  thought  it  interesting,  and  were  building  up  hopes  of  a  fight — 
and  a  park-keeper  with  a  Crimean  medal  approaching  along  the 
walk,  leisurely  enongh.  Straker  recovered  his  hat  and  his  legs 
slowly,  and  then  turning  to  Charles  said:  '^ous  m'en  rendrez 
compte.  I  will  pay  you  for  this."  Charles  gave  him  leave  to  do 
his  worst.  To  his  surprise  the  park-keeper  who  now  came  up 
seemed  to  take  the  justice  of  his  position  for  granted,  over  and 
beyond  the  normal  deference  to  the  better  dressed  of  two  dis- 
putants, which  is  inherent  in  constabularies  of  all  sorts. 

"1)0  you  wish  to  charge  him.  Sir  ?"  said  he. 

*^Does  he  wish  to  charge  me  ?"  said  Charles. 

"Have  you  any  charge  to  make  ?"  said  the  Crimean  hero,  address- 
ing Straker.  The  latter  made  no  reply,  and  began  to  move  oif. 
Charles  called  after  him.  "You  pretended  you  were  starving,"  he 
said;  "I  don't  want  you  to  starve,"  and  gave  him  a  sovereign.  The 
reverend  gentleman  said,  "Damn  you!"  but  took  the  money  and 
went  his  way. 

"He  was  at  his  usual  game.  Sir,  I  suppose?" 

"You  know  him  then  f' 

"He's  pretty  weU  known.  Sir.    I  should  like  your  card,  Sir,  if 


ALIGE-FOE-SHOET  505 

you've  no  objection."  Charles  gave  it,  and  added  that  Mr.  Straker 
was  unhappily  a  connection  of  his  own,  and  that  he  had  no  com- 
plaint against  him  except  that  he  had  been  offensive  and  imperti- 
nent. He  had  lost  his  temper  and  was  sorry.  The  park-keeper  saidt 
that  sort  of  thing  was  trying,  and  then  Charles  walked  on  to  com- 
plete his  business  and  recover  his  equanimity. 

He  was  just  administering  to  himself  a  dose  of  Alice,  mentally, 
to  clear  the  filth  out  of  his  mind,  when  he  became  aware  that  he 
had  been  overtaken  by  three  boys — the  same  that  had  witnessed  the 
fracas.  The  smallest  of  the  three  seemed  to  be  the  spokesman; 
he  opened  his  case  by  saying  that  he  said,  Guv'nor! 

"What  do  you  say,  old  man?"  said  Charles. 

"I  say,  Guv'nor !  The  boys  has  got  a  letter  wot  they  picked  up— 
they  picked  up — ^they  picked  up " 

"Where  did  they  pick  it  up  ?" 

"Orf  of  the  ground.    You  arsk  'em !" 

"Could  you  indicate  the  locality?"  Charles's  manner,  and  the 
beaming  good-nature  of  his  face  as  he  looks  at  the  little  Arab 
(who  is  sucking  his  cap  when  not  speaking),  remind  us  of  the 
Charles  who  talked  to  the  little  girl  with  the  beer-jug ! 

"Show  yer  where?  Over  there.  You  come  abng  of  us.  We'll 
show  yer !"  And  the  three  all  point  simultaneously  like  the  Witches 
in  Macbeth,  to  the  place  where  the  row  was.  But  the  eldest  boy, 
who  may  be  eleven  years  old,  suddenly  distinguishes : 

"You  young  hass!  Wot  do  you  want  to  be  walkin'  the  Guv- 
'nor all  the  way  back  there?  Don't  you  listen  to  him,  Guv'nor!" 
And  then  the  speaker  turns,  inconsistently,  on  the  young  ass,  and 
asks  him  why  he  don't  tell  the  Guv'nor  it  was  where  the  minister 
bloke  was  on  the  ground  ?    Charles's  old  manner  grows. 

"Let  us  avoid  recrimination !"  he  says.  "I  am  to  understand,  am 
I  not,  that  the  boys  picked  up  this  letter  where  the  minister  bloke 
was  on  the  ground?"  The  Witches  in  Macbeth  nod  simultane- 
ously. 

"Then — where  are  the  boys?  This  is  in  strict  order,  and  arises 
naturally  from  the  question  before  the  House."  The  Witches  look 
at  one  another,  puzzled.  Then  the  First  Witch  (the  young  hass) 
is  illuminated. 

"Them  two!"  he  says,  and  indicates  his  companions  as  if  they 
were  on  a  distant  promontory. 

"Is  there  any  objection  to  the  production  of  this  correspondence  V^ 
The  tone  of  the  colloquy  is  parliamentary,  but  the  conduct  of  the 
Second  and  Third  Witch  is  not.  For,  instead  of  saying  that  it  is 
not  at  present  consistent  with  the  public  service  to  do  so,  they  at 


606  ALICE-rOE-SHOET 

once  produce  two  folded  sheets,  one  apiece.  Charles  wonders  what 
would  happen  if  the  Home  Secretary,  for  instance,  were  to  pro- 
duce a  document  from  the  interior  of  his  trousers,  unbuttoning 
his  waistcoat  to  get  at  it,  as  the  Third  Witch  did ! 

"Thruppince !"  All  the  three  Witches  say  this  at  once,  like  a 
well-trained  Opera-chorus.  Charles  gives  them  a  penny  apiece, 
and  takes  the  papers.  The  three  walk  away,  conversing  about 
investments. 

Charles  saw  that  the  letter  or  letters  had  probably  fallen  out 
of  his  amiable  father-in-law's  hz.t,  and  ought  to  be  returned  to  him 
if  an  opportunity  ever  occurred.  He  thought  most  likely  none 
ever  would,  and  was  content  that  it  should  be  so.  But  as  he  was 
putting  them  away  in  his  pocket,  his  eye  was  caught  by  the  writ- 
ing. It  was  his  late  wife's.  Possibly  you  would  have  been  too 
scrupulous  to  look  at  them.  Charles  was  not,  under  the  circum- 
stances— and  we  confess  that  we  should  have  done  exactly  as  he 
did.    He  found  the  beginning  and  read  on,  as  follows : — 

*'Mon  pere — ^You  do  not  deserve  it,  but  I  will  send  it — it  is  the 
urgent  wish  of  la  bonne  Maman.  Elle  raffole  de  son  aimable  mari ! 
Pour  moi,  je  ne  m'engoue  pas  autant  de  mon  pere.  But  take  the 
money — I  hope  it  may  keep  you  out  of  gaol  for  a  time. 

"As  I  told  you,  the  letter  came.  I  felt  sure.  Ce  jeune  homme 
est  le  vrai  dindon  de  la  farce.  Sa  famille  est  bien  riche — il  n'a  pas 
besoin  de  I'argent.  Pour  les  Beaux  Arts,  ce  sont  son  dada — H  n'en 
gagnera  jamais  rien !  But  I  shall  not  ask  him  for  any  more  just 
yet — ^je  vais  tondre  le  brebis — ^je  ne  veux  pas  I'ecorcher. 

"You  see — you  could  not  catch  me!  Vous  aurez  beau-faire  de 
chercher  trouver  notre  petit  chez-nous.  Let  it  alone — ^you  will 
never  have  another  penny  from  me  if  you  find  us  out. 

"Votre  fille — ^pas  trop  devouee, 

L." 

Charles  opened  the  second  letter  without  refolding  the  first,  and 
read : — 

"Mon  pere — ^I  shall  not  come  myself  to  bring  you  the  cash — but 
Maurice  will  meet  you,  and  I  write  this  note  for  him  to  take. 

"Would  you  believe  it?  Ce  pauvre  Charles — he  saw  me  in  the 
Park  after  I  ran  away  from  you — j'ai  peur  qu'il  m'a  reconnu.  I 
have  told  him  I  was  at  Exeter  Hall  at  the  time — I  do  not  wish  him 
to  know  about  my  respectable  parent — and  yet  I  should  have  no 
etory  to  tell  without  bringing  you  in.    At  present  he  is  lulled  to 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  507 

sleep.  H  dort  a  polngs  fermes.  Mais  je  ne  veux  pas  I'eveiller. 
And,  therefore,  mon  ami,  be  content  not  to  see  your  dutiful  daugh- 
ter for  the  present.  Or  else  fix  another  meeting-place,  farther  from 
Monsieur  Charles's  daily  round.  He  says  he  often  walks  that  way. 
Tell  Maurice  somewhere  else.  Ampthill  Square?  He  won't  go-' 
over  that  way. 

L. 
"Ce  bon  Charles  va  me  raccommander !    But  first,  he  must  hear 
me  sing.    Cela  s'entend." 

Charles  angrily  crumpled  up  both  letters,  and  walked  briskly  on. 
He  thought  he  could  account  for  their  long  preservation,  and 
reappearance  now.  The  old  fox  had  evidently  kept  them  to  ter- 
rorise his  daughter,  and  Lavinia's  frequent  intercessions  for  this 
father  of  hers,  and  donations  to  him,  had  been  made  under  appre- 
hension of  their  production — and  perhaps  others.  Probably  he 
carried  them  about  with  him  latterly  in  case  he  should  ever  get 
speech  of  Charles.  He  had  been  sent  away  from  the  house  more 
than  once.  But  he  could  easily  have  used  them  to  get  money, 
and  may  have  had  them  in  his  hands  with  that  view  at  the  time 
of  the  rupture.  Anyhow,  it  was  certain  that  he  left  them  on  the 
grass. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Charles  said  to  himself  that,  after  all,  the 
letters  told  him  no  more  than  he  knew  already.  Why  should  not 
Lavinia  write  so  to  her  father?  He  caught  rather  despairingly  at 
her  contemptuous  way  of  mentioning  him,  as  evidence  that  at  that 
time  she  was  forming  no  scheme  of  entangling  him,  whatever  she 
did  later.  But  something  in  the  postscript  that  he  could  not  define 
came  in  the  way,  and  this  attempt  to  whitewash  Lavinia  failed. 
Besides,  the  whitewash  was  not  white.  It  might  obscure  a  dingy 
stain,  but  it  was  of  a  grimy  tint  itself.  There  was,  however,  an 
element  in  the  letters  for  the  force  of  which  perhaps  Charles  did 
not  make  full  allowance — may  not  have  been  actively  conscious 
of — namely,  the  half  English,  half  French.  It  reminded  him  that 
the  repulsive  object  he  had  just  got  rid  of  so  summarily  was  bone 
of  the  bone,  flesh  of  the  flesh,  of  this  woman.  And  she  was  Pierre's 
mother!  The  admixture  of  tongues  by  both  did  not  of  necessity- 
imply  like  character  in  the  two,  but  the  dose  of  it  from  both  so 
near  together  had  the  effect  of  a  nightmare. 

Poor  Charles!  He  was  so  wrenched  and  twisted,  so  put  on  the 
rack  by  the  whole  incident  and  its  cross-fire  of  thoughts  and 
memories,  that  he  was  almost  glad  to  remember  he  had  other  trou- 
bles in  hand,  so  sweet  by  contrast  was  the  thought  of  the  old  face 


508  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

and  silver  hair  of  yesterday;  so  sweet  was  it  still,  even  with  the 
pallor  of  Death  upon  it,  that  to  go  back  on  it  was  like  awakening 
from  a  dreadful  dream.  And  with  it  came  again  the  pressure  of  the 
two  soft  hands  upon  hie  shoulder,  the  memory  of  the  clear  blue 
eyes  that  had  looked  up  into  his  with  so  complete  a  faith  that  he 
would  understand.  There  was  trouble  and  grief  in  all,  as  there 
might  be  in  a  winter's  morning  for  the  escaped  prey  of  an  incubus. 
But,  oh,  the  freshness  of  the  air  and  the  sparkle  of  the  jewels  in  the 
snow!  Charles  tore  up  the  letters  into  pieces  enough  for  safety, 
and  scattered  them  to  the  winds. 

One  thing  was  certain — ^he  wouldn't  say  a  word  to  Peggy  about 
it.  Her  old  self -blame  for  the  marriage  would  come  back,  and  no 
end  be  gained.  He  might  tell  Alice.  He  would  like  to  tell  Alice 
everything — only  all  this  would  be  pain  to  her.  Why  tell  her  what 
would  hurt  her?  Still,  it  could  be  nothing  but  balm  to  him  that 
she  should  see  his  whole  soul;  only,  thought  he,  I  would  not  have 
her  look  down  into  a  charnel-house. 

This,  you  see,  was  exaggeration.  Alice  would  not  have  looked 
down  into  a  charnel-house:  only  into  a  dwelling  the  last  tenant 
had  made  a  disgraceful  litter  in,  and  run  away  from.  But  she 
would  have  seen  that,  though  the  owner  had  not  made  the  place 
tidy  for  a  new  tenant,  he  had  dusted  every  table,  polished  every 
pedestal  and  console,  cleaned  up  every  window-ledge  and  mantel- 
shelf, that  he  could  place  an  image  of  herseK  on.  She  would  have 
seen  one  of  a  very  little  girl  with  a  very  large  bonnet  and  an  apron 
full  of  something;  and  another  of  the  same  little  girl  well  washed 
and  dried,  and  dressed  in  a  little  blue  frock,  throwing  her  whole 
small  soul  into  a  spasmodic  delivery  of  the  memorable  tale  of  the 
siK)tted  lady.  Then  many  another  image,  of  the  growing  school- 
girl, acquiring  information  at  a  great  rate  on  every  conceivable 
subject;  of  the  experimental  nurse  of  two  or  three  years  ago;  and 
last,  but  not  least,  a  constant  double  image  of  herself  as  she  might 
have  been,  and  herself  as  she  was — the  former  exceeding  the  wildest 
aspirations  of  the  Smallpox  Hospital,  the  latter  a  deal  too  beautiful, 
and  not  doing  proper  justice  to  that  awful  mark  round  the  corner, 
where  people  kissed  you.  She  would  have  seen  all  these,  and  prob- 
ably would  have  said :  "What  a  pity  I  should  not  come  in  and  clean 
up  all  this  mess — for  I  love  this  house  so  dearly,  and  it  breaks  my 
heart  to  see  it  neglected  and  forsaken." 

Of  course  she  would  have  said  so,  and  Charles  knew  it.  And 
that  would  have  been  reason  enough  alone — charnel-house  apart — 
for  Charles  not  to  want  his  soul  seen  through  by  Alice.  Why,  if  she 
came  to  know,  from  an  autopsy,  how  absorbingly  he  loved  her,  she 


ALICE-FOE-SHOKT  509 

would  at  once  fling  all  her  own  feelings  to  the  winds  and  say :  "Oh, 
dear  Mr,  Charley,  how  can  you  be  so  silly  ?  Do  you  really  suppose  I 
would  ever  leave  you,  if  you  wanted  me  to  stay?  Marry  me  right 
off  if  you  like — ^nothing  would  please  me  better!"  Yes — Charles 
knew  that.  But  would  nothing  please  her  better?  There  was  the 
crux !     Charles  couldn't  have  Alice's  happiness  tampered  with. 

Then  there  crept  into  his  mind  again — he  could  not  keep  it  out ! — 
the  same  strain  that  had  sent  the  blood  flying  to  his  head  before — a 
Hallelujah  Chorus  breaking  into  a  Pastoral  Symphony,  and  filling 
his  whole  soul  with  its  triumphant  resonances — "How  if  Alice 
herself" — it  always  began,  and  always  lost  articulate  expression  in 
its  admission  of  the  possibility  of  an  affirmative  answer,  "It 
might  even  be!  Such  things  have  been,  and  will  be  again."  But 
if  so,  how  had  human  reason  survived  for  the  after  life — for  the 
hours  of  fruition  ?  Absurd  speculation !  Be  still,  ambitious  soul  t 
Remember  what  you  are,  for  your  own  sake  and  hers.  Do  not  give 
way  to  extravagance,  and  destroy  the  happiness  that  is  real,  for  the 
sake  of  a  dazzling  chimaera, 

Charles  silenced  the  importunities  of  his  soul  and  waked  up  from 
his  dangerous  dream,  as  he  passed  through  the  gate  where,  years 
ago,  he  had  seen  Lavinia  give  that  intolerable  father  the  slip. 
"Poor  girl !"  said  he,  "perhaps  if  one  only  knew— — "  and  walked 
briskly  on  to  his  business  in  a  humour  of  incorrigible  forgiveness. 

Perhaps  you  may  not  see  as  plainly  as  we  do  that  the  difficulty 
between  Alice  and  Charles  was  an  epitome  of  all  man's  stumbling 
blocks  that  are  laid  in  his  path  by  Selfishness  and  Altruism.  Just 
as  his  results  work  out  the  same  und^  consistent  Selfishness  or  con- 
sistent Christianity,  so  would  theirs  have  done  had  each  had  either 
a  miraculous  insight  into  the  true  well-being  of  the  other,  or  a 
blind  absorbing  greed  for  that  other,  regardless  of  obstacles  and 
forgetful  of  everything  but  its  object.  "We  prefer  the  latter  mo- 
tive force  in  love-affairs,  but  unfortunately  it  is  only  possible  to 
Eomeo  and  Juliet.  Maturity  will  be  thinking  about  other  folks' 
welfare,^  with  painful  results — Poor-Laws,  populations  pauperised, 
and  collectively  congested,  but  with  personally  empty  stomachs. 
There  is  much  to  be  said  for  the  Stone  Age.  What  the  exact  par- 
allel of  the  Poor-Law  was  in  the  case  of  Charles  and  Alice  we  da 
not  know,  but  we  do  see  that  the  chivalric  scruples  of  the  former 
didn't  do  the  latter  any  good,  and  made  Charles  poor  indeed. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII 

NONE  SO  BLIND  AS  THOSE  WHO  CAN't  SEE.  PEGGY  GIVES  ALICE  UP.  NOT 
WANT  TO  MARRY  ALICE — RUBBISH  I  A  GREAT  REVELATION^  WHICH  IS 
PREMATURE 

That  night.  Old  Jane's  last  on  this  earth.  Lady  Johnson  and  her 
husband  were  recapitulating  in  their  bedroom  and  dressing-room, 
as  we  have  known  them  to  do  before,  relying  on  the  solidity  of  a 
Harley  Street  house  to  prevent  that  little  monkey  Lucy  overhead 
hearing  every  word  they  said  as  they  shouted  from  one  room  to 
the  other. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  Nelly."  This  comes  in  a 
puzzled  tone  from  Peggy  in  the  bedroom.  Rupert  first  says  he  can't 
hear,  and  then  replies  without  waiting  for  a  repeat.  Why  are 
people  always  so  inconsistent  in  conversation? 

"Advise  her  not  to  ask  for  advice — tell  her  to  marry  him  without 
it !    She's  done  it  once  before,  and  may  as  well  do  it  again." 

"She  says  he's  such  a  boy!" 

"Does  he  wipe  it  off  when  she  kisses  him  ?  It  seems  to  me  that's 
the  point !"  Each  smiles  and  knows  the  other  does,  in  spite  of  the 
wall  between. 

"Yes!  your  youngest  daughter  was  funny.  Dr.  Jomson.  She 
wouldn't  mally  that  little  boy,  because  he  wiped  it  off  when  she 
kissed  him.  Did  you  hear  the  little  boy's  perfectly  disgusting  apol- 
ogy for  his  conduct?" 

"Oh  yes ! — there  was  something  to  be  said,  though.  As  for  Nelly, 
she  wants  to  marry  this  one,  whether  or  no — only  this  time,  she 
particularly  wants  to  do  it  d  contre  coeur,  and  because  other  folk 
advise  it.  One  she  can't;  t'other  she  can  try  for.  But  they'll 
do  very  well — never  fear!" 

"I  suppose  he  went  to  Vevey  on  purpose.  I  wish  I  was  half  as 
easy  about  the  other  two  as  I  am  about  them." 

"The  Contented  Vacillators?  Couldn't  they  be  forbidden  one 
another's  society  ?  That  would  do  it."  But  they  couldn't  obviously. 
Peggy  reviews  other  possibilities. 

"I  can't  bear  to  think  of  the  old  lady  dying — one  gets  so  veiy 
fond  of  her.    But,  of  course " 

510 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  611 

"Of  course,  that  would  make  a  difference !    I  say.  Lady  Jomson !" 

"What?" 

"Couldn't  you  persuade  the  washerwoman  not  to  tie  up  all  my 
shirts  with  beastly  little  red  threads  ?  That  woman  is  an  incarnate 
fiend — she  knows  I  hate  it  and  does  it  on  purpose — etc.,  etc.,  etc." 

But  the  conversation  loses  interest  for  us.  Why  we  are  con- 
cerned in  anything  so  inconsecutive  is  that  when  Peggy  heard 
next  morning,  at  an  unusually  early  time,  an  unusually  early  voice 
as  of  Alice  on  the  stairs  asking  if  Lady  Johnson  was  in  the  back 
drawing-room,  and  then  Alice  came  in  with  a  pale  face  and  the 
news,  her  first  remark  was:  "Oh  dear!  and  I  was  talking  of  her 
last  night!"  For  it  struck  Lady  Johnson  as  a  cruel  and  cold- 
blooded thing  to  speak  conversationally  of  any  one  who  was  near 
death  elsewhere,  or  dying,  however  ignorant  we  might  be  of  the 
fact.  She  put  by  the  letter  she  was  writing  to  her  sister  Ellen — a 
letter  not  very  likely  to  deter  that  still  young  lady  from  her  new 
enterprise — and  sat  down  beside  Alice  on  the  sofa. 

When  was  it  and  how  was  it?  Particulars,  known  to  us,  are 
given.  Doctor  says  he  can  call  it  heart-failure,  for  the  sake  of  a 
name.  Really  it  was  just  what  Anne  Gaisford  anticipated — a 
natural  end  of  her  term  of  life.  Stimulated  perhaps  by  a  little 
excitement  just  before  she  went  to  bed.  She  burned  up  a  little  too 
much  overnight  and  flickered  out  in  the  dull  small  hours  of  the 
morning — between  one  and  two,  Mr.  Shaw  thought. 

"You  darling  child!  And  you  found  her!  And  where  has 
Charley  gone?" 

"Gone  for  Mr.  Mould.    I  don't  know  what  his  real  name  is." 

"And  will  Charley  come  on  here  ?" 

"Yes — ^he  was  to  come  straight  on."  And  so  keenly  did  Peggy 
scan  every  word  Alice  said  about  Charles,  that  she  absolutely 
noticed  the  omission  of  the  name  with  the  invariable  Mr.  and  the 
accepted  pronoun  Charley,  and  thought  to  herself :  "Now,  how  nice 
it  will  be  if  next  time  she  speaks  of  him,  she  calls  him  Charles  or 
Charley!"  But  she  said  nothing  except  "What  had  the  dear  old 
lady  been  excited  about?"  and  Alice  disappointed  her  in  her  first 
sentence.  For  she  looked  unhesitatingly  straight  into  Peggy's  face, 
the  blue  eyes  full  of  tears,  and  answered :  "Poor  darling  Old  Jane ! 
Do  you  know,  dear  Mother  Peg,  she  had  absolutely  got  it  into  her 
head  that  Mr.  Charley  and  I  were  fiances,  lovers.  Darby  and  Joan, 
don't  you  know?  And  were  going  to  be  married  and  she  asked  us 
when.  And  poor  Mr.  Charley  had  to  tell  her  we  weren't!  Oh!  I 
was  so  sorry  for  him.  You  know  how  he  hates  giving  pain.  And 
she  cried  so !    And  then  I  did  what  I've  felt  so  sorry  for  since,  be- 


512  ALICE-FOK-SHOET 

cause  she  really  cried  so  we  thought  she  would  be  hurt — you  know 
how  frail  she  looked  ?" 

'^What  did  you  do  ?" 

"I  told  her  a  great  fib  just  to  make  her  mind  easy,  I  said  Mn 
Charley  and  I  were  going  to  be  married,  some  day,  if  ever  we  were 
in  the  humoiu',  and  it  made  her  so  happy,  and  Mr.  Charley  didn't 
mind — it  was  only  nonsense !  But  you  would  haye  done  it  your- 
self, because  she  cried  so." 

"I  don't  wonder !"  Peggy  cannot  for  the  life  of  her  resist  saying 
this.  When  she  has  said  it,  for  one  moment  she  fancies  the  cat  is 
out  of  the  bag,  and  all  the  fat  in  the  fire ;  but  how  little  she  iinder- 
stands  her  Alice ! 

"I^o  more  do  I !  I  should  have  been  so  bitterly  disappointed  my- 
self if  I  liad  thought  any  girl  /  was  very  fond  of — and  she  was 

very  fond  of  me "    And  Alice  breaks  down  in  the  middle  and 

loses  speech  in  sobs.  She  recovers,  however,  and  finishes  up:  "was 
to  marry  Mr.  Charley  and  thea  I  found  it  was  all  a  mistake !" 

"That's  why  I  didn't  wonder,  darling!  because  I  am  very  fond, 
indeed,  of  you!"  Alice  looks  puzzled  over  this — doesn't  seem  to 
follow  the  reasoning — prefers  to  finish  what  she  was  saying. 

" — Because,  just  think  what  she  would  lose !" 

"Oh  I  Alcey — ^Alcey,"  cries  Peggy,  quite  out  of  patience,  "do  come 
here,  my  ducky,  and  tell  your  Aunty  Lissy  she's  the  biggest  little 
goose  of  an  Aunty  ever  was." 

"Well,  I  do  not  see  anything  goosey  in  that!  Isn't  he  better 
than  any  other  man — any  man  we  know,  I  mean?  And  just  think 
how  uneasy  one  would  be  about  the  poor  girl  herself — why,  she 
might  have  fancied  Mr.  Charley  was  going  to  marry  her.* — I 
simply  cannot  bear  to  think  of  it — it  would  be  too  dreadful  for 
her." 

"Alice!  you're  hopeless!  I  give  you  up.  Tell  your  Aunty  Lissy 
she's  hopeless.  Ducky!"  But  the  spoiled  yoamgest  of  the  family  is 
busy,  and  says  so  explicitly.  She  is  reading  from  a  book  held 
upside  down,  a  tale  of  two  mouses  and  a  worm,  which  she  has  to 
make  up  as  she  goes. 

"Very  well,  darling — ^you're  biddy  and  you  shan't  be  disturbed. 
But  your  Aunty  is  quite  hopeless,  and  I  give  her  up." 

Alice  says:  "I  don't  see  why  Fm  hopeless !"  But  sloe  sits  on  with 
the  puzzled  look  growing  on  her  face,  and  buttons  and  unbuttons 
the  glove  she  has  not  taken  off.  Peggy  having  given  her  up,  leaves 
her  to  think  it  out,  even  as  the  propounder  of  a  conundrum  that 
has  made  up  his  mind  not  to  say,  "Give  it  up  f  Alice  speaks  first 
in  the  end: 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  513 

^*I  can't  see  what  you  mean,  unless  it's  something — ^that  you  can't 
possibly  mean." 

"Why  not?"  Observe  that  both  these  ladies  take  what  it  is  for 
granted ! 

"Well— evidently!" 

"Why  evidently?" 

"Me  and  Mr.  Charley — just  fancy !" 

"What  is  there  absurd  in  that  ?    It  would  be  very  nice." 

"Very  nice  for  me — yes!  Of  course  it  would  prevent  any  other 
girl  marrying  him  and  taking  him  away.    Besides " 

"Besides  what  ?" 

"Oh,  the  whole  thing !  But  how  do  you  know  Mr.  Charley  would 
like  it?     That's  the  point!" 

^*I  don't  know,  but  I  can't  see  how  there  can  be  any  doubt 
about  it." 

"Did  you  ever  ask  him?" 

"Never!    But  I  know  Charley." 

"I  could  ask  him  myself,  of  course."  Alice  doesn't  seem  pre- 
pared to  do  any  bashfulness  on  the  subject.  She  takes  the  matter 
quietly  enough,  as  the  bather  from  the  shore  takes  the  chill  on  his 
feet  in  the  shallows — the  gasping  is  to  come  later — the  glorious 
complete  immersion  last.  But  her  principal  feeling  is  confusion  at 
an  unforeseen  combination. 

"Of  course,  I  could  ask  him  if  he  would  like  it — but,  of  course, 
he  would  say  yes  directly.    That  would  never  do !" 

"Why  not  ?" 

^'Because  he  would  be  doing  it  for  my  sake.  You  know,  Mr. 
Charley  would  do  anything  for  my  sake.  He  would  hang  himself 
to-morrow  if  I  asked  him — he's  so  fond  of  me,  don't  you  see?  I 
sometimes  think  he's  as  fond  of  me  as  I  am  of  him." 

"Alice  dear!  you  are — ^without  exception — one  of  the  most  be- 
wildering little  minxes  I  ever  came  across.  What  on  earth  you 
expect  I  can't  make  out!" 

Alice  substitutes  a  pulling  on  and  off  of  the  glove  for  buttoning 
and  unbuttoning.  If  Peggy  is  not  mistaken,  there  is  the  faintest 
flush  in  the  world  on  the  bewildering  minx's  cheek. 

"You  see,  Margaret  dearest," — an  unusual  method  of  address, 
always  implying  seriousness, — "it  would  be  very  nice  that  way,  and 
I  should  love  Mr.  Charley  dearly  for  it.  But  it  wouldn't,  you 
know,  be  quite  the  same  thing  as  if — as  if "  The  flush  is  cer- 
tainly increasing,  and  Alice's  eyes  are  much  preoccupied  over 
"that  glove. 

"As  if  what?" 


514  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

"It  wouldn't  be  quite  the  same  thing  as  if — as  if — ^he  wanted 
me  all  for  his  own  sake.  I  think  many  other  girls  would  feel  the 
same.    Like  greediness,  you  know!" 

Lady  Johnson's  laugh  rings  out  all  through  the  house,  and 
Charles  and  Sir  Rupert,  who  have  just  met  on  the  doorstep,  wonder 
what  is  making  Mother  Peggy  laugh  so.  She  is  laughing  at  the 
naivete  with  which  Alice  has  expressed  a  universal  truth.  She 
kisses  her  a  great  deal  on  both  sides,  and  says:  "What  a  very 
human  minx,  after  all !" 

"Ven  ve  two  mouses  tooked  hold  of  each  end  of  ve  wum,  and 
pulled  ve  wum  in  halfed,  and  ve  wum  kyed  because  it  hurted  to  be 
pulled  in  half  and  ve  mouses  didn't  kye  because  they  was  bad 
mouses,  etc."  Thus  continues  the  legend  in  a  sweet  stuttered 
monotone,  which  has  been  theoretically  reaching  the  ears  of  its 
audience  all  along. 

Charles  walked  into  the  great  physician's  private  sanctum  with 
him.  Patients  who  could  not  minister  to  themselves  were  waiting 
in  the  anteroom,  but  let  them  wait!  Opinions  like  Sir  Rupert 
Johnson's  were  things  to  be  waited  for.  The  moment  he  saw 
Charles  he  guessed  the  news  from  his  face. 

"When  did  it  happen  ?"  said  he  after  a  few  words.  Charles  gave 
particulars.  "I  should  like  to  examine  the  brain,"  resumed  Sir 
Rupert.  "Would  Alice  object  to  a  post-mortem  ?  You  see,  I  regard 
you  and  Alice  as  the  old  lady's  representatives."  Charles  said  it 
would  hardly  be  possible  to  refuse  it,  under  the  circumstances; 
after  all,  it  was  an  ante-mortem  that  "the  case"  had  owed  her  short 
spell  of  resurrection  to. 

"This  will  upset  you  and  Alice  very  much." 

"Very  much!  Alice  has  been  very  much  upset  by  it.  You  see, 
she  had  got  very  fond  of  the  old  lady,  so  had  Pierre.  .  .  ." 

"So  had  you!  Always  tell  truth  and  shame  the  Devil,  Charley. 
But  I  didn't  mean  only  that  sort  of  upset.  I  meant  your  house- 
keeping. We're  not  going  to  let  you  have  Alice  all  to  yourself, 
and  so  I  tell  you  plainly.  While  the  old  lady  was  there — ^well!  it 
could  only  have  been  for  a  short  time.  At  least,  that  was  my 
forecast.    But  now " 

"I  see  what  you  mean.  Of  course,  it  will  be  much  better  for 
Alice  to  come  back  here.    For  her  own  sake." 

"Ah! — and  for  yours.  (Never  mind  the  patient,  he's  only  the 
heir  to  half-a-million  and  the  relatives  want  to  know  if  he's  fit 
to  look  after  it  and  I  can  tell  'em  he  isn't  in  five  minutes.)  And 
for  yours.    Where  were  we?    Yes — she  had  better  come  back  here 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  515 

for  your  sake.  Because  look  at  it  this  way,  dear  boy!  You're  a 
young  man  still,  and  ought  to  marry  again — get  that  boy  of  yours 
a  mother  to  look  after  him.  His  Granny  spoils  him,  and  if  Alice 
remains  with  you,  you'll  never  marry." 

"Certainly  not !"    Emphasis  itself,  on  this  point. 

"And  she  won't  marry  either.  I  feel  it  in  my  bones,  and  Peg 
feels  it  in  hers.  And  we  want  her  back  here — the  house  hasn't  been 
the  same  house,  without  her !  So  make  up  your  mind,  old  boy,  and 
give  Alice  up.  And  Peg  will  tell  her  to  make  up  her  mind  and 
give  you  up.  There's  no  way  out  of  it,  unless  you  marry  each 
other !"  The  physician's  shrewd  eye  turns  round  on  his  brother-in- 
law,  with  merciless  decision,  and  remains  fixing  him.  Charles 
wavers,  but  thoughtfully,  not  morally. 

"Perhaps  you  don't  want  to  marry  her?" 

"No,  Rupert,  that's  absurd,  and  you  know  it!  Fancy  any  man, 
in  his  senses,  not  wanting  to  marry  Alice  1" 

"Some  people  do  want  to  marry  other  girls,  for  all  that !" 

"They  mustn't  expect  any  sympathy  from  me,"  says  Charles,  with 
a  touch  of  his  paradoxical  humour.  But  he  puts  it  aside,  and 
meets  earnestness  with  earnestness.  He  sees  that  Rupert  has  a 
well-defined  purpose  in  what  he  says,  and  that  evasion  would  be 
shabby.  "Look  at  it  this  way,  Rupert,"  he  says.  "If  I  were  to  ask 
Alice  to  marry  me,  she  would  accept  me  at  once " 

"Well — what  harm  would  that  do  you?  (Never  mind  the 
patient.)" 

"None  whatever — ^unless  I  went  out  of  my  senses  with  happiness ! 
I  am  making  you  my  father-confessor!  But  remember  this, 
Rupert !  All  her  life,  almost,  Alice  has  fancied  that  she  owes  it  to 
me  that  she  is  not  a — well!  God  knows  what  she  might  or  might 
not  have  been  had  I  not  picked  her  up  and  put  her  in  a  Hansom  and 
brought  her  home  to  the  Gardens."  (Charles's  voice  fluctuates 
towards  tenderness  as  his  mind  picks  up  the  little  blue-eyed  mid- 
get's image  and  places  it  in  a  spectral  cab.)  "And  she  hasn't  the 
least  idea  that  she  is  to  me  a  precious  jewel,  a  diamond  that  I  treas- 
ure all  the  more  that  I  found  it  on  a  dust-heap.  She  fancies  her- 
self, the  darling  girl,  deeply  indebted  to  me,  when  really  it  is  I  that 
am  her  debtor.  She  can't  possibly  know  whether  or  not  her  feel- 
ings towards  me  are  or  are  not  such  as  a  girl  ought  to  feel  towards 
a  man  who  is  to  be  her  husband.  She  only  knows  she  is  ready  to  do 
whatever  I  ask  her.  I  know  all  that  in  a  dozen  ways.  Would  it 
be  fair,  Rupert, — now  think  of  it  seriously, — to  take  advantage  of 
the  position,  and  allow  her  to  make  an  irrevocable  step  under  what 
I  myself  believe  may  be  a  misapprehension  of  her  own  feelings?" 


616  ALIOE-FOR-SHOET 

Charles  knows  he  is  in  earnest,  but  feels  that  he  sounds  like  a  novel 
of  his  grandmother's  youth. 

"Don't  you  be  too  metaphysical  over  it,  Charley.  Let  Alice  fry 
her  own  fish — you  see  to  yours.  Don't  imagine  Alice  would  do  her 
benefactor  such  an  injustice  as  to  marry  him  out  of  gratitude;  she 
has  your  interests  far  too  much  at  heart  for  that.  Now  you  know 
what  I  think  about  it.  If  I  didn't  consider  you  were  a  Mental 
Case  I  wouldn't  keep  the  Duke's  nephew  waiting." 

At  this  moment  Phillimore  appeared,  and  said  he  believed  Miss 
Kavanagh  wanted  Mr.  Charles,  and  had  been  asking  for  him. 
"There !  you  see — Charley !"  said  hia  brother-in-law,  but  Phillimore 
didn't  understand,  naturally! 

In  due  course  the  whole  of  Alice's  conversation  with  Peggy,  and 
Charles's  with  Rupert,  were  communicated  by  each  of  the  latter 
to  the  other.  Due  course  in  this  case  was  in  the  confidence  of  the 
night — the  next  night.  And  narrative,  comment,  and  necessary 
qualification  went  on  into  the  small  hours  of  the  morning;  and 
Lucy  above  wondered  what  on  earth  papa  and  mamma  could  have 
got  to  talk  about. 

No  wonder,  after  each  had  heard  the  other,  that  they  looked  on 
Charles  and  Alice  as  joint  constituents  of  a  lighted  firework  which 
is  now  nothing  but  a  red  spot  in  the  dark,  but  means  to  distinguish 
itself  as  soon  as  it  is  on  the  job.  They  remained  quite  silent,  not 
giving  way  to  the  weak  impatience  you  show  when  you  tip  eath- 
erine-wheels  slightly,  to  start  them.  It  isn't  any  use;  and  just 
as  like  as  not  you'll  jiggle  them  on  their  pin,  and  they'll  get  stuck. 
The  same  holds  good,  in  principle,  of  Orchestras  and  the  Drama. 
No  reasonable  Conductor  or  Manager  allows  himself  to  be  influ- 
enced by  catcalls  and  noisy  stamping.  Much  better  to  be  quiet, 
and  wait  with  patience  as  Rupert  and  Peggy  did. 

They  had  not  to  wait  long.  For  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  on 
which  what  had  been  (or  had  held)  Old  Jane  was  laid  in  the  earth 
— ashes  to  the  ashes  of  her  long  dead  husband,  dust  to  his  dust — 
JPeggy  was  conscious,  as  she  came  downstairs  to  go  out  shopping 
with  her  eldest  daughter,  and  then  call  on  the  somebody  some- 
things, of  a  certain  empressement  in  the  behaviour  of  the  street 
door,  or  the  umbrella-stand,  or  Charlotte,  who  had  been  dusting 
the  latter  and  answering  the  former,  or  Lucy,  who  had  rushed  down 
in  front  of  her,  armed  eap-d-pie  either  for  Shoolbred's  or  Society. 
It  was  indefinite  and  unusual,  and  made  her  tell  Space  she  won- 
dered what  all  that  was.  Space  must  have  told  Charles  to  answer 
the  question,  for  what  he  said  as  he  came  up  two  stairs  at  a  time. 


ALICE-FOK-SHOET  517 

to  anticipate  Peggy,  was,  "It's  us!"  He  was  so  radiant  that  she 
simply  stood  at  gaze — heart  and  speech  stopped — to  hear  what  was 
coming  next.  For  remember,  Charles  and  Alice  were  back  from  a 
funeral,  and  the  speaker's  face  was  out  of  keeping. 

"I've  brought  Alice  back."     That  wasn't  all,  clearly! 

"Yes — yes — Charley  darling !  go  on — go  on  quick !" 

"Not  for  good,  you  know !  I'll  let  you  have  her  for  awhile."  But 
bis  sister's  arms  are  round  his  neck,  and  the  tears  and  laughter 
of  her  joy  show  that  no  more  is  needed;  the  murder  is  out,  and 
wild  excitement  and  felicitation  reign  in  Harley  Street. 

"Yes — Mr.  Charley  and  I  are  going  to  be  married  unless  I  change 
my  mind.  I've  promised  not  to  marry  him  if  I  change  my  mind." 
[Thus  Alice. 

"We  shall  have  to  see  about  your  things."    Thus  Lucy. 

"S'ant  I  have  tratters  off  the  tate  to  pull  faw  myself?"  Thus 
'Alice  junior,  who,  whenever  anything  in  the  nature  of  a  celebra- 
tion is  afoot,  surrenders  herself  to  an  uncurbed  passion  for 
crackers,  which  almost  always  turn  out,  so  to  speak,  Dead-Sea 
crackers. 

But  this  is  all  anticipation — mere  story-spoiling,  in  fact !  If  you 
wish  to  know  how  this  result  came  about,  go  on  to  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

THE  LITTLE  ARCADIANS,  AND  HOW  CHARLES  BOUGHT  THEM.  A  FUNERAL 
IN  A  FOG,  AND  HOW  ALICE  CLEANED  THE  SHEPHERD.  AND  WHAT  SHE 
FOUND.  HOW  CHARLES  COULD  STAND  IT  NO  LONGER,  AND  COOK 
wasn't  CANDID 

When  Charles  left  Sir  Rupert,  making  way  for  the  Duke's 
nephew  (who  looked  more  like  a  wolf's  nephew,  for  his  ears  stuck 
out  like  bats'  wings),  he  found  that  Alice  did  not  want,  as  might 
have  been  supposed,  to  lead  him  straightway  to  the  Altar  of  Hymen, 
but  to  tell  him  that  she  and  Lucy  were  going  to  Jay's  in  Regent 
Street.  They  wo\ild  come  round  to  No.  4.0  after,  if  Charles  was 
going  to  be  there,  in  time  for  lunch;  and  then  they  could  all  go 
and  lunch  together  somewhere,  or  come  back  to  Harley  Street. 
Agreed  to.  And  Charles  was  to  be  sure  to  recollect  this;  to  be 
particularly  certain  to  remember  that;  and  to  make  a  point  of  not 
forgetting  the  other.  Agreed  to  also,  and  Alice  and  Lucy  took  an 
impatient  cab  that  would  hardly  stand  still  for  them  to  get  in,  and 
went  off  to  buy  details  of  mourning.  Charles  took  the  cab's  num- 
ber carefully,  as  part  of  a  nonsensical  system  of  fidgeting  about 
Alice  whenever  she  went  out  of  his  sight,  and  walked  away  to  his 
Studio. 

His  brain  was  rather  in  a  whirl  after  the  events  of  the  last  day 
or  two.  When  he  arrived  at  No.  40  he  was  not  altogether  sorry  to 
exchange  a  few  words  with  Mr.  Pope,  whom  he  met  coming  down- 
stairs. It  tended  to  settle  matters  down — to  recognition  of  the 
routine  of  every  day  life.  He  told  about  the  death,  speaking  of  it 
as  a  serious  loss  to  himself  and  Alice.  By  the  merest  accident  he 
called  her  Alice ;  deliberation,  in  speaking  to  Pope,  would  certainly 
have  made  her  Miss  Kavanagh.  It  would  have  seemed  mere  prig- 
gism  to  correct  it. 

"Sort  of  maternal  parent  to  Mrs.  'Eath?"  said  the  stained-glass 
maker.  He  was  always  allotting  Alice  to  Charles — ^perhaps  he  had 
derived  a  spirit  of  prophecy  from  the  numerous  Isaiahs,  Habak- 
kuks,  and  Jonahs  whom  he  had  delineated,  all  looking  as  if  they 
had  a  low  opinion  of  the  future — and  naturally  this  mention  of  her 
by  her  Christian  name  had  its  effect  on  him. 

618 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  519 

"There  is  no  Mrs.  Heath,"  said  Charles,  seeing  the  mistake.  "My 
wife  died  some  years  ago — don't  you  remember?"  Poor  Mr.  Pope 
looked  disconcerted. 

"I'm  puttin'  my  foot  in  it,"  said  he.  "I'm  wantin'  that  leeftenant 
of  mine — my  son.  Kit — to  keep  me  on  the  square.  You  ask  him! 
He'll  tell  you  his  guv'nor  spends  his  time  forgettin'  himself  and 
commemoratin'  other  people." 

"How's  Kit?"  said  Charles,  to  change  the  subject. 

"Spooney  young  customer!  That's  what's  the  matter  with  Kit. 
Otherwise,  lawn-tennis,  football,  swimmin'  matches — anythin'  you 
like!" 

"Is  it  Miss  Jerry  thought  ?" 

"That's  the  young  lady.  Sir! — if  you  call  her  a  young  lady. 
I  don't,  I  call  her  a  little  girl — a  little  girl  in  her  teens,  and  not 
too  many  of  'em.  Can't  see  why  their  mothers  can't  let  'em  alone, 
for  my  part!  Me  and  Mr.  J.  'old  to  the  opinion  of  lookin'  the 
other  way  when  there's  any  kissin'  goin'  on,  and  lettin'  'em  alone. 
Couple  of  infants  in  arms,  accordin'  to  me !" 

"A  long  engagement's  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for  a  boy,"  said 
Charles.    "I'm  on  your  side  and  Jeff's.    They  can  wait." 

"So  I  tell  'em.  But  what  upsets  their  respective  mammas  is 
the  way  they  have  of  going  about  looking  for  furniture  for  their 
house.  Catalogues  all  over  the  place — ^best  white  wool  in  super 
tick  mattress — combination  chest-of-drors  and  washstand — three 
fifteen.    That  sort  o'  game !    No  knowin'  what'll  come  next !" 

"Nothing  like  being  beforehand,"  said  Charles.  He  wanted  to 
go  upstairs,  but  Mr.  Pope  was  full  of  his  subject. 

"You  ask  Mr,  Bauerstein — ^here  he  comes ! — ^how  those  two  young 
shavers  were  going  on  in  the  Gallery  yesterday."  Mr.  Bauerstein, 
appealed  to  for  further  explanation,  shook  with  laughter  internally, 
and  recalled  how  that  nice  little  girl  had  pitched  upon  a  very  sweet 
little  pair  of  Dresden-china  figures  and  made  a  note  of  the  price. 
She  was  sure  her  Aunt  Sarah  would  give  them  to  her  and  Chris- 
topher for  a  wedding-present,  if  she  asked  her,  and  her  mother  said 
thereon:  "But  you  are  not  engaged.  I  will  not  have  it."  Mr. 
Bauerstein  became  inarticulate  with  laughter.  When  he  recovered, 
he  wiped  his  eyes  and  his  spectacles  and  said:  "They  are  valuable 
figures,  but  one  is  broken,  I  bought  them  with  Mr.  Verrinder's 
pictures.     Mr.  Heath  would  remember?" 

Mr.  Heath  remembered  the  pictures  (but  had  never  seen  the 
china)  and  also  recalled  where  he  had  been  hearing  of  Dres- 
den porcelain.  These  little  figures  were  Old  Jane's  wedding- 
present. 


520  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

Charles  bad  no  difficulty,  when  he  had  told  Jir\  Bauerstein  of 
the  death  of  Mrs.  Verrinder,  and  that  she  had  mentioned  these 
figures,  in  negotiating  a  purchase.  He  carried  the  little  shepherd 
and  shepherdess,  in  Court  dresges,  up  into  the  Studio.  And  lighted 
a  pipe,  and  wondered. 

Sixty  years  ago!  old  Becky's  gift  to  Old  Jane,  when  she  was 
young  Jane — ^when  life  was  new  and  bright,  and  the  sun  shone  on 
Paddington  fields.  In  the  days  when  a  Gretna  Green  elopement 
from  London  meant  four  days'  posting,  day  and  night,  through 
pastoral  silences  that  are  now  resonant  with  pumping-engines ; 
under  skies  then  clear  that  now  are  tainted  with  a  Cimmerian 
gloom,  or  blacked  outright,  like  Hell — through  villages  that  have 
become  railway-stations  and  village-inns  that  have  become  Hotels, 
with  lifts.  That  like  was  the  wedding  journey  of  young  Jane  and 
her  bridegroom,  and  the  wedding-presents  they  came  back  to  were 
this  very  same  little  Arcadian  pair,  and  no  others.  And  how 
strangely  they  had  comse  back,  by  a  succession  of  unconnected  acci- 
dents, to  a  link  with  liieir  original  donor — to  the  old  ballroom 
where  she,  young  Beclcy,  then  a  girl  in  her  first  season,  had  wit- 
nessed an  infamous  scene  of  the  good  old  days ;  the  days  of  Vauxhall 
and  Eanelagh  in  their  glory,  of  a  Court  that  aped  a  Harem,  of  a 
Press  that  dared  not  speak  for  dread  of  the  Pillory,  and  a  Parlia- 
ment packed  with  placemen;  the  days  when  no  woman  could  call 
her  soul  or  body  her  own — in  a  word,  the  days  of  a  hundred  and 
thirty  years  ago.  That  was  the  image  of  those  days  Charles  had 
in  his  mind — maybe  a  false  one!  How  he  would  have  liked  to 
follow  out  the  story  to  its  sequel,  the  cellar-murder !  For  that 
the  two  were  connected  he  did  not  doubt.  But  now  there  were  no 
further  data  to  ground  surmises  on.  The  mystery  must  remain  a 
mystery,  for  all  time. 

If  only  we  could  have  oblivion,  just  where  we  want  it!  If  we 
could  but  use  the  curtain  that  hides  from  us  a  past  our  curiosity 
craves  to  fathom,  to  veil  the  things  in  our  lives  that  we  are  crav- 
ing to  forget !  So  Charles  thought  as  he  watched  his  smoke-rings 
melt  to  nothing,  and  die.  If  only  tlaat  cloud  that  hid  that  murder 
and  its  story  could  be  lifted,  and  become  instead  an  impenetrable 
darkness  between  him  and  his  own  past !  He  was  not  of  that  sort 
that  consoles  itself  with  the  reflection:  "At  any  rate  I  was  not 
to  blame."  Rather,  he  was  always  seeing  to  whitewash  others  at 
his  own  expense.  He  would  far  sooner  have  treasured  his  last 
weak  attempts  in  his  dead  wife's  favour  than  have  to  look  at  her 
in  the  ugly  ligh.t  of  those  two  letters  he  had  torn  up  and  thrown 
away  so  gladly.    But  there  was  something  in  the  tone  of  the  let- 


ALICE-FOR-SHORT  521 

ters  that  was  worse  even  than  the  contemptuous  expressions  about 
himself.  "Le  vrai  dindon  de  la  f aree,"  was  bad  enough — even  with 
the  forced  excuse  that  she  hardly  knew  him  at  the  time — ^but  the 
semi-jocular,  hail-fellow-well-met  tone  in  which  she  wrote  to  her 
criminal  old  parent  had  sickened  Charles  of  his  task  of  extenuation. 
"I'm  afraid  I  can  do  nothing  for  poor  Lavinia  after  that/*  said  be 
to  himself.    Only  note — he  still  said  "Poor  Lavinia  !" 

By-the-bye  (apropos  of  Lavinia),  he  was  all  this  time  forgetting 
that  dear  boy  at  home,  who  was  just  as  dear  to  him  as  if  his  mother 
had  been  an  angel.  Of  course,  the  poor  child  would  be  coming 
back  from  his  Granny,  and  there  lie  would  find  his  "other-wicket 
granny,"  as  he  called  Old  Jane,  lying  dead  and  cold.  And  the 
boy  had  never  seen  Deatk  near.  So  Charles  gave  up  the  intention 
of  beginning  a  glass-cartoon  he  had  promised  Pope,  and  writing  a 
hurried  line  of  explanation  to  Alice,  which  he  directed  and  attached 
to  his  door,  went  back  to  Acacia  Road  as  fast  as  a  cab  could 
take  him.  But  he  wrapped  up  the  Dresden  figures  and  carried  them 
home  with  him. 

Poor  Pierre !  He  had  arrived  and  heard  the  news,  with  no  one 
but  Cook  and  Priscilla  to  console  him.  As  far  as  Charles  could 
make  out  he  must  have  divided  his  despair  between  shedding  tears 
on  Cook  (who  was  kind-hearted,  though  greasy)  and  listening  out- 
side the  death-chamber  with  no  tangible  motive,  and  with  his  shoes 
off  in  case  he  should  make  a  noise!  When  he  saw  his  father  his 
sobs  made  him  almost  inarticulate,  but  he  managed  to  convey  that 
he  had  been  looking  forward  to  telling  the  old  lady  that  on  Satur- 
day he  made  three  sixers.  And  now  she  would  never  know!  His 
faith  in  her  interest  in  cricket  was  touching.  (It  was  a  holiday,  for 
some  reason,  and  Pierre  was  engaged  to  go  to  a  schoolfellow's, 
where  he  was  to  spend  the  night,  and  return  to  school  with  his 
friend — it  was  a  large  public  day-school — in  the  morning.) 

Alice  would  be  pretty  sure  to  stop  on  in  Harley  Street;  so 
Charles  made  up  his  mind  to  stay  at  home,  and  write.  He  was 
near  the  end  of  his  polysyllabic  story,  and  the  publisher  was  cry- 
ing aloud  for  it.    He  must  unpack  the  Arcadians,  though. 

Where  should  he  stand  them?  On  the  chimney-piece  would  be 
best.  But  first  he  must  wash  the  male.  The  female  had  evidently 
been  the  broken  one,  and  Mr.  Bauerstein  had  had  her  cleaned  from 
glue  and  properly  mended.  She  looked  as  good  as  new.  But  the 
male  (as  well  as  herself)  had  been  an  inkpot,  or  rather,  lived 
in  a  champaign-country  where  each  tree  had  an  inkpot  at  its 
roots.  He  had  been  careless  and  the  ink  had  got  on  his  Bose-du- 
Barry  silk  stockings. 


622  ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 

There  was  a  piece  of  paper  roughly  gummed  or  pasted  under 
his  hollow  base.  On  it  was  faint  writing,  nearly  vanished.  But 
"For  Katey"  still  remained  legible.  Oh !  how  strange  it  was,  with 
her  lying  dead  upstairs ! 

The  writing  was  so  faint  that  if  hot  water  was  used  to  wash  it 
or  to  detach  the  paper,  the  forest  ink  might  go  outright.  Charles 
decided,  as  the  safest  course,  to  stand  it  in  cold  water,  and  let  the 
paper  soak  off  slowly.  That  would  not  hurt  it,  and  it  could  be 
replaced,  if  Alice  liked.  Every  arrangement  Charles  made  was 
subject  to  this  condition.  He  left  that  courtly  little  shepherd 
sitting  on  an  island  in  a  basin  of  water,  well  out  of  reach  of  Pris- 
cilla's  trop  de  zele,  for  which  she  was  celebrated.  Then  he  sat  down 
seriously  to  finish  his  story,  and  to  work  in  all  the  longest  words 
he  knew, 

A  pause  for  refreshments,  and  three  hours  more  writing  and  he 
was  at  the  end  of  the  twelve  thousand  words.  He  acknowledged 
fatigue,  and  rang  for  tea.  Just  as  he  was  measuring  it  out 
scrupulously,  came  the  sound  of  Alice.  So  he  put  in  another 
heaped-up  spoonful.  Alice's  footstep  on  the  stairs,  and  her  voice, 
in  the  rooms  above,  giving  instructions  to  Priscilla,  put  a  new 
heart  in  him,  in  place  of  the  mere  workaday  heart  of  the  past 
three  hours. 

"Now,  Mr.  Charley  dear,  tea !  Have  you  stirred  it  ?  Only  just 
made — very  good!  I'm  not  going  to  stop,  you  know.  I'm  going 
back  to  Harley  Street.  I've  come  for  my  things."  The  new  heart 
fell — went  down  below  the  level  of  the  old  one. 

"Must  you  go,  Alice-f  or-short  ?  Does  Peggy  say  you 
must?" 

Alice  longed  to  say  that  Peggy  would  be  only  too  glad  to  give 
her  up,  under  certain  circumstances.  But  although  she  had  made 
claim  to  be  able  to  speak  of  those  circumstances  to  Mr.  Charley 
with  perfect  self-command,  she  found,  face  to  face  with  the  under- 
taking, that  it  was  not  so  easy  as  it  had  seemed.  The  water  was 
up  to  the  bather's  waist,  and  she  was  gasping. 

"She  thinks  I  had  better  go  back,  all  things  considered." 

"Whatever  shall  I  do  without  you,  my  dearest  girl  ?"  Alice  then 
made  a  completely  false  step.  Perhaps  the  gasping  was  uncon- 
trollable. 

"Of  course,  if  you  were  ill,  dear  Mr.  Charley,  I  would  come 
directly,  whatever  they  said." 

What  a  mistake!  Immediately,  whatever  Charles's  mind  had 
allowed  itself  of  imaginings  that  Alice's  heart  might  be  his  out- 
right, as  though  he  were  the  young  Eomeo  he  had  often  allotted  her 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  523 

to,  was  swamped  in  a  vision  in  which  Gratitude,  Benevolence,  even 
Duty,  came  on  the  stage,  while  poor  little  Love  fluttered  away  crest- 
fallen to  the  flies. 

"I  daresay  they  are  right.  But  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do 
without  you,  Alice-for-short,  for  all  that!" 

"You  don't  know  what  you  can  do  till  you  try,  Mr.  Charley  dear ! 
Just  you  try !     Anyhow,  back  I  go — that's  certain." 

And  back  Alice  went  sure  enough.  And  so  hurt  and  discon- 
certed was  Charles  at  being  roughly  brought  face  to  face  with  the 
inevitable  full-stop  to  his  daily  Alice  that  he  actually  forgot  the 
poor  little  Arcadian  shepherd,  and  left  him  playing  on  a  reed  in 
his  little  three-cornered  hat,  with  never  a  shepherdess  to  console 
him,  on  a  shelf  in  his  own  bedroom  where  nobody  else  would  touch 
him  and  he  would  be  safe,  if  anywhere.  So,  as  it  chanced,  Alice 
heard  nothing  about  him,  that  time. 

Charles,  when  he  appeared  next  morning,  went  as  near  being  ill- 
tempered  as  Priscilla  could  recollect  seeing  him.  She  made  mat- 
ters worse  (she  was  quite  without  tact)  by  saying  Miss  Alice  said 
coffee  was  to  be  made  for  two  just  the  same  whether  master  was 
alone  or  not,  because  good  coffee  couldn't  be  made  for  one,  and  it 
could  always  be  finished  in  the  kitchen.  This  rubbed  Alice's 
absence  in,  and  Charles  felt  it  was  undeserved.  So,  instead  of 
conversing  amiably  with  Priscilla,  he  told  her  that  would  do.  This 
was  a  hint,  and  Priscilla  took  it,  and  left  him  to  the  Daily  Tele- 
graph. He  ate  a  soulless  egg  and  prepared  to  go.  He  glanced 
in  at  the  room  where  the  body  lay.  The  gleam  of  morning  sun 
that  struck  across  it,  as  he  opened  the  closed  shutter,  showed  where 
Alice  had  placed  some  flowers  about  the  figure  on  the  bed,  when 
she  had  come  upstairs  the  day  before.  The  motionless  remnant  of 
eighty-six  years  of  nominal  life,  that  had  only  been  actual  for  less 
than  one-third  of  its  time,  was  so  pale  and  unsubstantial,  such  a 
mere  technical  record  of  humanity  passed  away,  that  the  little 
China  shepherd,  could  he  have  seen  it  and  spoken,  would  have 
called  it  porcelain  like  himself,  and  never  could  have  dreamed  that 
that  was  once  the  bride  that  owned  him,  sixty  years  ago!  Look 
at  his  shepherdess — how  little  the  change!  True,  she  had  been 
broken,  and  mended !  So  had  Old  Jane,  but  the  mending  had  come 
too  late. 

Charles  uncovered  the  face,  and  let  his  imagination  put  down 
the  perfect  happiness  of  its  serenity  to  the  last  impressions  on  her 
mind  at  death,  the  memories  of  her  old  days  with  her  husband; 
of  the  happy  hours  in  Paddington  fields,  that  are  fields  no  more; 
and,  not  least,  the  delusion  about  himself  and  Alice.    Yes  I  Charles 


524  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

did  wish  she  had  "been  under  no  delusion  when  she  died.  So  had 
Alice  wished,  but  not  in  exactly  the  same  way. 

How  about  that  ring?  He  drew  the  coverlid  also  off  the  hand. 
Yes,  there  was  the  ring  all  right.  Alice  had  replaced  it  yesterday. 
Charles  wondered  whether  Mr.  Mould  (whose  real  name  was  ignored, 
liiou^  no  doubt  he  had  one)  was  really  to  be  trusted  about  valua- 
bles, when  no  member  of  the  family  stood  by  to  see  the  coffin-lid 
screwed  on.  We  wonder,  too.  Let  us  hope,  w^ith  Charles,  that  a 
strong  professional  feeling  prevents  malpractices.  But,  what  do 
we  know?  Charles  took  his  last  look  at  the  silver  hair  and  old 
features  Alice  had  grown  to  love  so  in  so  short  a  time,  and  wondered 
where  or  what  the  young  soul  was  now^  that  had  slept  on  earth  for 
sixty  years.  He  closed  up  the  room,  gave  some  directions  about 
tile  undertaker,  who  would  probably  come  before  he  returned,  and 
some  others  in  case  Sir  Rupert  or  Dr.  Fludyer  should  come  to 
examine  the  body,  and  went  away  to  spend  at  the  Studio  the  work- 
ing hours  of  the  loneliest  day  he  had  had  for  a  long  time. 

However,  he  completed  a  cartoon  for  Mr.  Pope,  who  was  greatly 
delighted  with  it.  With  a  singular  perversity,  Fate  had  ordained 
that  Charles  should  develope  a  capacity  for  doing  respectable  work 
the  moment  he  had  another  employment  he  was  better  fitted  for. 
Had  some  guardian  Angel  been  purposely  blocking  his  path;  and 
now,  having  turned  him  into  a  hetter  groove,  was  allowing  him  a 
little  luxury — a  pleasant  self-justification  for  his  many  pictures 
that  clung  about  him  stilL  Every  day  as  he  looked  at  the  dreary 
backs  of  the  canvases  against  the  walls,  they  seemed  to  him  years  the 
locust  had  eaten  and  been  unable  to  digest.  And  every  day  he 
wished  he  could  burn  them  all  and  see  the  last  of  them. 

He  did  not  wish  it  less  at  the  end  of  this  lonely  day  than  on  any 
other,  but  he  put  very  little  side  on  in  his  wishing.  For  he  felt  that 
all  life  had  gone  colourless  and  flat.  He  had  imagined  he  could 
really  give  up  Alice,  for  Alice's  own  sake;  and  he  was  not  best 
pleased  with  himself  for  beginning  to  suspect  that  he  might  possi- 
bly be  mistaken.  He  was  honestly  (but  quite  fallaciously)  con- 
vinced that  the  surrender  was  necessary  and  inevitable,  and  would 
of  course  make  it.  But  he  was  by  no  means  sure  he  would  not  cry 
out  on  the  rack,  and  destroy  all  the  merit;  and,  what  was  more 
important,  all  the  intended  good  effect  of  his  self-denial.  Yet 
every  throe  of  disquiet  (and  each  was  worse  than  the  last)  ended 
the  same  way— consider  Alice!  Nobody  could  say  Charles  Heath 
did  not  make  a  good  fight  against  an  opponent  who  never  attacks 
without  a  certainty  that  there  i^  a  traitor  in  the  enemy's  camp — ■ 
himself!    And  he  is  an  opponent  who  can  bide  his  time — who  caa 


ALIOE-FOK-SHQKT  525 

afford  to  wait — ^whose  eDtrenchments  are  secure;  whose  corarais- 
sariat  is  lanimpeachable,  and  whose  name  is  Love. 

When  Charles  had  completed  his  cartoon  (a  colonred  cartoon, 
because  it  had  little  numerals  and  letters  all  oyer  it  to  show  what 
glasses  to  use)  he  went  away  to  Harley  Street.  But  he  felt  that 
Harley  Street  had  got  a  little  dog's-eared.  Are  we  too  meta- 
phorical ?  Our  meaning  is  that  Charles  was  conscious  of  Some- 
thing, and  conscious  of  a  consciousness  of  Something  on  the  part 
of  Alice  and  Peggy  and  Rupert.  And  further  he  was  conscious 
that  each  and  all  of  them  were  doing  their  level  best  to  enable  all 
and  each  to  pretend  that  tliere  never  was  a  community  with  so 
little  below  the  surface.  A  parade  was  made  of  the  abnormal 
usualness  of  current  life.  It  was  an  epidemic  sensitiveness  that 
alwajs  breaks  out  in  families  where  engagements  are  brewing,  or 
suspected.  Under  these  eircunastances  it  has  always  seemed  to  tis 
that  the  kith  and  kin  of  the  two  principals  might  be  described 
as  their  strained  relations.  Peggy  and  Rupert  talked  a  good  deal 
into  the  night,  and  rather  regretted  that  they  should  have  said 
anything  about  it — the  Something!  And  Lucy  overhead,  this 
time,  felt  quite  sure  she  knew  what  papa  and  mamma  were  talk- 
ing about. 

But  to-morrow  was  the  funeral.  It  was  an  early  October  day,  on 
which  London  was  tiaxning  over  in  its  mind  tow  it  would  do  its 
first  November  fog. 

Alice  and  Charles  were  to  be  the  only  mournei'S — Lucy  wanted 
to  come,  but  her  mamma  overruled  her.  She  had  a  cold,  cer- 
tainly, but — well !  perhaps  there  was  a  mixture  of  motives. 

Old  Verrinder's  will  had  determined  that  he  should  be  buried 
at  Kensal  Green,  in  the  Dissenters'  Ground,  and  that  the  remains 
"of  his  dearly  loved  wife,  when  actual  Death  shall  ensue"  should 
be  laid  '^beside  my  own."  Dr.  Fludyer  had  carefully  observed  all 
the  terms  of  his  will;  and,  therefore,  it  was  at  Kensal  Green  Gate 
that  the  hearse,  after  a  respectful  crawl  tlirough  suburbs  in  which 
the  middle-class  was  leading  what  it  called  its  life,  and  a  cheerful 
trot  (after  a  pause  to  collect  itself)  through  what  were  once  the 
fields  its  tenant  walked  in — thinking  perhaps  to  herself  all  the 
time  what  a  very  nice  sort  of  young  fellow  this  young  man  beside 
her  was,  papa's  new  assistant ! — that  this  hearse,  bearing  her  ashes 
to  his  ashes,  her  dust  to  his  dust,  remembered  what  was  due  to  itseL£ 
and  the  occasion  and  went,  under  a  profound  conviction  of  our 
common  lot,  very  little  quicker  over  the  soft  gravel  road  than  if  it 
had  contained  the  chrysalis  of  a  begone  chTarchwarden. 

London  was  trying  a  curious  experiment  with  a  great  black 


526  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

cloud  overhead  when  Alice  and  Charles  followed  the  coffin  to  the 
grave.  The  fog  had  risen  from  the  ground  and  hung  above,  like 
a  pall.  The  sparrows,  who  always  seem  to  know  about  these  things, 
twittered  to  one  another  that  it  was  abnormal,  and  one  appeared 
to  ask  suddenly  if  it  wasn't  an  eclipse.  Alice  thought  they  quar- 
relled about  it  violently  in  the  dust — or  the  ashes.  Then  they  left, 
in  the  hands  of  a  local  stonemason,  the  lettering  to  follow  her 
husband's  name  on  the  headstone :  "Katharine  Verrinder.  Wife  of 
the  above.  Died  September  1876,  aged  eighty-six."  And  then  were 
driven  oflF  for  home.  The  mourning-coach  was  cheerful  about  it; 
that  job  was  done,  anyhow ! 

On  the  way  Charles  was  silent — very  silent.  But  then  he  had 
been  that  five  years  before,  at  his  father's  funeral,  when  Alice  went 
also,  and  returned  with  him  and  his  mother  and  Peggy  in  one  of  the 
coaches.  She  remembered  that  he  hardly  said  a  word.  This  time, 
however,  he  did  speak  in  the  end,  just  as  they  got  to  Praed  Street. 
"I  never  told  you,  Alice  dear,  about  the  little  shepherd,"  said  he. 
And  then  he  told  her;  and  she,  who  had  had  an  uncomfortable 
impression  that  she  should  somehow  leave  him  at  his  door  and  be 
driven  home  alone  to  Harley  Street  in  this  lugubrious  ancient 
carriage  that  smelt  of  the  Georges,  replied  that  she  must  come 
in  then  to  see  that  little  pair  of  Utopians,  and  she  supposed,  but 
hesitatingly,  that  they  might  send  this  thing  away,  and  she  go 
home  in  a  hansom.  She  spoke  as  though  doing  so  might  outrage 
some  funeral  propriety  unknown  to  her. 

"I'll  risk  it!"  said  Charles.  "But  it's  rather  like  sending  Guild- 
hall away,  or  the  Lion  and  Unicorn." 

But  it  made  no  difficulties,  touching  its  hat  in  the  person  of  its 
head-steward,  who  may  have  felt  nearer  pewter  than  before.  He 
looked  that  sort.  Charles  and  Alice  drew  freer  breath  as  the  last 
obsequy  dispersed,  and  she  ran  into  the  house  to  open  the  shutters. 

"However  those  men  get  any  wives,  I  can't  imagine,"  said  she, 
when  she  and  Priscilla  had  opened  everywhere  and  let  in  what 
light  there  was. 

"I  believe  they  all  marry  pew-openers,"  said  Charles,  with  perfect 
seriousness.  And  Alice  believed  him  for  a  moment ;  then  her  laugh 
rang  out  quite  happily  and  naturally.    The  funeral  was  over. 

"Oh!  here's  the  little  lady!  What  a  pretty  little  thing!  How 
she  must  be  missing  her  little  shepherd !    Where  is  he  ?" 

"Up  in  the  bedroom.    On  the  top-shelf — by  the  window." 

"Which  bedroom — yours  or  mine?" 

"Mine.  Beside  Julius  Caesar  above  the  books.  He's  stood  in  a 
basin." 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  527 

"All  right !"  and  off  goes  Alice,  twice  as  quick  as  Charles  would 
have  done,  and  comes  back,  basin  and  all.  He  sits  gravely  by, 
looking  at  her.  He  is  very  saddened,  or  distrait,  or  something. 
This  won't  do !  Alice  can't  go  off  in  hansoms  and  leave  him  like 
this.     She  must  cheer  him  up. 

"Take  care  of  the  bit  of  paper,  stuck  underneath  him,"  says  he, 
but  absently,  as  if  he  didn't  care  so  very  much  about  the  little 
shepherd. 

"There  is  no  piece  of  paper.  Yes,  there  is !  It's  floating  in  the 
water.    I  say,  Mr.  Charley " 

"What,  dear?" 

"What's  the  meaning  of  this — written  on  it  ?" 

"It's  what  Miss  Luttrell — old  Becky,  you  know — stuck  on  it. 
Some  direction  to  some  one  she  left  it  with — 'for  Katey.' " 

"Yes,  I  see  all  that,  but  this  on  the  other  side?  How  comes  my 
name  to  be  written  on  it  at  all?" 

"Hullo,  Alice-for-short,  darling!  What's  all  that?  .  .  .  Let's 
have  a  look.  .  .  .    Well,  I'm  blowed!" 

So  was  Alice.  For  there,  on  the  side  of  the  paper  which  for  sixty- 
odd  years  had  stuck  under  that  little  shepherd  who  had  passed 
straight  from  Verrinder's  strange  eyrie  that  looked  out  on  Bedlam 
to  the  back  slums  of  Mr.  Bauerstein's  collection,  and  only  been 
resuscitated  for  repair  the  other  day — on  that  inexplicable  scrap 
of  paper  was  written  plain  and  clear  for  all  to  read,  Alice's  own 
name,  "Alicia  Kavanagh!" 

If  Charles  had  been  by  himself  when  this  came  to  light  he  would 
very  likely  have  given  up  trying  to  guess  the  conundrum.  But 
Alice  was  sharper.  She  only  wanted  time  to  put  two  and  two 
together. 

"Then  there  was  an  Alice  Kavanagh.  That  was  what  she  meant 
— dear  Old  Jane!"  Alice's  eyes  are  full  of  tears.  "Don't  you 
remember,  Mr.  Charley,  how  she  said  there  was,  and  we  didn't 
believe  her,  and  thought  it  was  because  she  heard  my  name  just 
after  she  came  to?  Only — how  strange  that  it  should  be  Alicia, 
too!"  Charles  remembered  it  all,  but  proceeded  to  discover  that 
there  was  nothing  very  remarkable  in  the  coincidence.  He  had  a 
disposition  towards  minimising;  had  always  shown  skill  in  this 
direction  in  dealing  with  the  No.  40  ghosts.  There  might  be  fifty 
Alicia  Kavanaghs.     Why  not? 

Said  Alice:  "Why  not  indeed?  I'm  one  myself,  and  it  would  be 
too  selfish  to  expect  everybody  else  not  to  be!  But  I  must  wash 
this  little  man's  ink  off  and  make  him  as  smart  as  his  little  she. 
I'll  do  it  directly  we've  had  some  lunch."    And  she  did  so;  getting 


628  ALICE-FOR  SHORT 

some  soap  and  soda  from  Priscilla.  Charles  was  almost  too  pre- 
occupied to  eat  anything;  and  she  could  see  plainly  that  all  Cook's 
efforts  to  produce  that  impossible  thing,  a  chronic  lunch  to  become 
acute  at  pleasure,  had  turned  out  useless.  Alice  was  sorry,  but 
then  she  was  nearly  as  bad  herself.  However,  Charles  soothed 
his  troubled  soul  with  a  pipe,  and  watching  Alice's  pretty  fingers 
removing  the  ink  from  the  soiled  Arcadian. 

"Don't  pour  my  coffee — not  till  I've  quite  finished  him,"  said 
she.  "The  ink's  in  all  his  frills  and  folds."  But  slie  got  him  quite 
smart  like  his  little  lovg,  and  stood  them  on  the  chimney-piece 
together — rather  far  apart  certainly.  But  as  they  were  inflexible 
and  sounded  when  tapped,  what  did  that  matter  ? 

The  great  gloom  of  London's  little  experiment,  now  several 
hours  in  operation,  had  brought  chill  as  well  as  darkness  on  SL 
John's  Wood  certainly,  probably  elsewhere.  The  fire  was  lighted, 
and  flickered  on  the  faces  of  Charles  and  Alice  as  he  puffed  at  his 
pipe  and  she  drank  her  coffee.  Both  were  sad,  but  each  in  its  own 
way;  Charles's  an  absorbed  sadness,  full  of  thought;  Alice's  a  sad- 
ness of  tears  that  may  have  their  way  and  leave  the  soul  in  peace. 

"Oh!  Mr.  Charley  dear,  think  how  long  ago!  And  they  may 
have  placed  them,  on  their  chimney-piece  just  as  we  do  now ^" 

"On  ours?  But  I  shall  have  the  chimney-piece  all  to  myself, 
dearest  Alice-for-short !  Alice  has  run  away — ^gone  to  Harley 
Street  now,  instead  of  Charley  Street." 

"Oh!  don't — please  don't!  You  know  I  can  always  come  and 
pay  the  little  China  shepherd  and  shepherdess  a  visit — ^whenever  I 
like." 

"Yes,  dear  child !  I  know.    And  you  will  come — often — till " 

Something  a  little  queer,  surely,  in  Charles's  voice. 

"Till  what?" 

"Till  after  I  have  made  them  a  wedding-present,  dear,  to  you. 
And  then  you  will  always  be  able  to  see  them,  at  home.  The 
time  will  come,  and  you  shall  have  them,  darling!" 

Charles  tried  a  laugh,  and  it  turned  out  a  miserable  failure. 
Alice  got  up  and  went  to  the  window.  "I  think  the  fog's  clearing," 
she  said.  "I  ought  to  be  going."  A  minute  or  two  elapses,  as  she 
stands  at  the  window,  very  tremulous.  Then  she  turns  round,  not 
concealing  it  well  at  all,  and  says,  as  she  puts  on  her  cloak : 

"You  know  how  I  hate  to  hear  you  talk  like  that — ^yes;  about 
me — ^marrying!  I  ought  to  go  now,  dear  Mr.  Charley.  You're 
coming  this  evening,  of  course?"  Alice  is  going  off.  The  fog  is 
clearing,  no  doubt,  Charles's  farewell  seems  to  hang  fire.  The 
fact  is,  that  if  Alice  is  tremulous  Charles  is  worse.    He  has  put 


ALICE-FOR-SHOET  529 

his  pipe  down,  for  smoking  has  become  a  mere  pretence,  and  each 
hand  alternately  grasps  the  other  to  keep  it  still,  and  betrays  its 
own  weakness. 

"Alice !  Stop !"  He  has  made  no  eflFort  to  control  his  voice — 
leaves  it  to  its  own  devices.  So  left,  it  simply  announces  to  Alice 
what  is  coming  next.  She  Icnows  what  it  will  mean,  though  she 
doesn't  know  what  form  it  will  take.  Her  heart  thumps  painfully, 
uncontrollably,  as  she  closes  the  door  she  is  just  opening,  and 
goes  half-way  back  to  Charles. 

"Yes— Mr.  Charley  dear— what?" 

"It's  no  use,  darling,  I  must  speak!  I  simply  can't  bear  to  be 
without  you.    I  simply — can't — hear  it !" 

Alice  says  never  a  word.  She  can't.  But  she  knows  Charles 
won't  misinterpret  her  silence,  if  she  does  not  flinch  from  the  arms 
that  come  so  naturally  round  her.  After  all,  a  girl  can't  be  ex- 
pected to  speak  when  nerve-thrills  are  all  through  her  arms  and 
hands,  and  making  her  teeth  chatter,  as  a  galvanic  battery  does 
when  you  hold  the  handles  and  the  proprietor  puts  it  on  too  much. 
In  Alice's  case  the  current  is  only  perceptible  because  it  is  inter- 
mittent. Soon  it  will  be  constant,  and  then  we  shall  have  all  the 
advantage  and  none  of  the  fuss. 

Charles  was  able  to  speak  first,  and  he  spoke  to  Alice's  head  that 
was  on  his  shoulder,  to  Alice's  face  that  he  was  kissing.  And  he 
had  the  meanness,  the  unmanliness,  to  say:  "Oh,  my  darling!  how 
you  shake !"  Alice  had  thought  of  saying  it  herself  of  him  and  to 
him,  only  really  it  was  just  the  critical  moment;  like  the  bather  of 
our  former  metaphor  she  was  half-way-in,  and  the  gasping^  made 
speech  imjwssible.  This  was  the  moment  of  the  plunge,  and  the 
easiest  way  of  taking  it  was  to  leave  it  to  the  other  bather  who  had 
hold  of  her  hand.  In  a  very  little  time  both  felt  that  the  plunge 
was  taken,  and  that  they  were  fellow-swimmers  in  a  sunlit  ocean 
of  happiness.  The  last  phase  of  the  metaphor  had  come,  and  was 
to  last  a  long  time.  It  has  in  fact  lasted  till  now — it  is  no  breach 
of  confidence  to  tell  you  this.  However,  for  the  present  our  busi- 
ness is  to  round  off  this  little  perturbation  of  two  human  souls,  and 
to  qualify  them  to  go  and  tell  Rupert  and  Peggy,  as  we  believe  we 
have  already  shown  them  doing. 

They  sat  on  the  table  to  rest.  This  could  be  done  without  preju- 
dice to  the  status-quo.  Then  Charles  found  the  voice  of  everyday 
speech,  after  one  or  two  deep  drawn  breaths,  like  the  sigh  a  big 
dog  gives  as  he  settles  down  to  sleep,  after  gyrating  on  his  axis  in 
search  of  it: 

**Ye9 — darling   love — Alice-f or-short !   that's   about   it — I   can't 


630  ALICE-FOR-SHOET 

Kve  without  ^ou.  I  knew  I  couldn't  ever  so  long  ago,  and  kept 
on  making  believe.  Only  I  don't  think  I  ever  succeeded  in  mak- 
ing myself  believe." 

"Poor  dear  Mr.  Charley!"  It  isn't  much  to  say,  but  it's  some- 
thing— a  contribution  towards  future  possibility  of  speech. 

"Of  course,  if  you  had  taken  kindly  to  any  other  fellow " 

"Only  I  didn't!"  A  shade  of  resentful  spirit,  the  original  Adam 
of  contradictiousness,  helps  Alice  mightily  at  this  point.  She 
will  speak  like  herself  directly. 

" that  was  really  fit  for  you,  darling  (which  was  impossi- 
ble!), I  should  have  had  to  give  you  away  to  him  with  the  best 
grace  I  could.  But  there  was  no  such  person  seemingly;  only  I 
kept  on  thinking  there  might  be." 

"And  then  I  should  have  been  Mrs.  Harris,"  says  Alice,  com- 
ing up  out  of  Charles's  neckcloth,  and  speaking  collectedly.  Per- 
haps you  can  analyse  her  remark  to  the  bottom.  She  did  not,  her- 
self; but  seemed  content  with  it  for  all  that.  Then  as  she  looked 
at  Old  Jane's  empty  chair,  on  which  a  ray  of  strange  unexpected 
sunlight  was  shining,  for  the  fog  had  vanished,  she  broke  into  a 
flood  of  tears  and  cried  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

"Oh,  Kate — Kate !  dear  old  Kate — if  only  you  could  have  known ! 
Oh,  my  dearest,  think — think  how  she  was  sitting  crying  there,  only 
five  days  ago,  because  it  wasn't  true!  Think  how  happy  it  would 
have  made  her!    And  then,  perhaps,  she  might  have  lived  a  little 

longer — and ^"    Alice  was  conscious  of  the  absurdity  of  adding 

what  her  ingrained  naivete  of  character  suggested:  "And  seen 
the  little  shepherd  and  shepherdess  again."  But  the  truth  is,  the 
absurdity  would  have  been  a  natural  absurdity,  and  the  exclusion 
of  it  was  an  artificial  deference  to  the  spirit  of  the  mourning  coach. 
She  had  seen  what  was  professionally  possible  done  in  the  morn- 
ing at  the  cemetery;  and  she  felt  that  the  mutes,  if  speech  could 
have  been  lawfully  theirs,  would  have  rebuked  her  for  saying  such 
a  thing,  and  would  have  looked  reproachful,  anyhow.  She  would 
wait  to  say  it  another  time,  when  those  august  but  stuffy  creatures 
should  be  forgotten.  At  present  the  sun  had  not  poured  into  the 
room  long  enough  to  rinse  their  memory  away. 

"It  would  have  come  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end,  darling," 
says  Charles,  caressing  the  hand  Alice's  return  to  a  sane  demeanour 
has  left  him.  He  doesn't  feel  that  his  remark  is  very  profound ;  but 
it  will  do.  He  won't  be  answerable  much  for  what  he  says,  until 
he  and  his  fellow-swimmer  are  a  little  used  to  the  golden  sea  they 
have  just  plunged  into. 

"EverytJbing  does  that!"  says  Alice,  for  whom  we  may  also 


ALICE-FOK-SHOKT  631 

plead  that  at  present  she  is  an  irresponsible  imbecile.  Some  little 
reminder  of  the  claims  of  daily  life  is  wanted  to  rouse  these  people 
from  the  state  of  collapse  they  have  fallen  into.  They  mustn't  sit 
on  that  table,  moralising,  all  the  rest  of  the  afternoon ! 

What  came  to  rouse  them  was  Priscilla,  who  had  an  inspiration 
to  take  away  the  coffee.  In  pursuance  of  her  Method,  she  charged 
the  drawing-room  door  like  a  steam-ram,  and  entering  suddenly, 
said  Ho!  as  if  she  had  been  addressing  a  varlet.  This  was  due  to 
finding  Master  sitting  on  the  table  with  his  arm  round  Miss  Alice. 
On  which,  Priscilla  retired,  saying  it  was  nothing.  She  seemed 
ashamed  of  the  weakness  of  this  conclusion,  though;  for  she  closed 
the  door  with  tenderness,  and  retired  stealthily.  Her  retention  of 
her  soul  in  silence,  however,  went  no  farther  than  the  kitchen  door. 
*'!Now !"  said  she,  triumphantly,  "what  did  I  tell  you.  Cook  ?" 

But  Cook  was  turning  cataracts  of  water  into  her  sink,  to 
slooshy  it  well  out  after  a  real  good  wash-up,  and  Priscilla  had 
to  wait  until  the  drumming  sound  of  an  overwrought  water-jet  on 
a  metal  pail  had  softened  down  to  a  steady  narrative  of  its  wrongs. 
Then  she  repeated  her  question,  and  Cook  turned  round,  wiping  a 
great  deal  of  flesh. 

"What  did  you  tell  me?  Oh,  Priscilla,  you  untruthful  girl! 
What  did  /  tell  you?"  Now  please  observe,  that  neither  said  what 
it  was.  Full  particulars  were  in  the  expression  of  Priscilla's  face, 
in  which  Cook  saw,  distinctly  reflected,  an  image  of  Charles  and 
Alice,  exactly  as  we  left  them,  or  its  equivalent. 

"No,  Cook!  Now  you  ain't  candid!  It  was  me  told  you.  Ask 
the  Wash — ask  Pinnocks — I  can  see  their  boy  standin'  there  at 
the  time — their  boy  himself!  etc.,  etc." 

We  are  sorry  we  cannot  give  enough  of  this  conversation  to 
show  at  what  point  Cook  and  Priscilla  recognised  the  fact  that 
the  matters  that  provoked  the  discussion  had  as  strong  an  interest 
as  the  question  which  of  them  had  first  pointed  them  out  to  the 
other;  that  is  to  say,  if  they  did  so  recognise  it.  We  confess  to 
doubts  on  the  point.  This  discussion  was  still  going  on  when 
Charles  and  Alice  came  downstairs  after  ringing  for  Priscilla — 
when  the  latter  was  informed  that  Mr.  Charles  might  come  back, 
but  it  wasn't  certain ;  but  that  anyhow  Priscilla  was  to  leave  a  big 
can  of  hot  water  for  him  that  would  hold  the  heat,  and  put  a 
towel  over  it,  or  it  was  no  use.  And  then  they  went  off  in  a 
cab.  And  in  due  course  invaded  Harley  Street  tempestuously,  with 
the  news,  as  we  have  before  related. 


CHAPTEK  L 

HOW  CHARLES  CLEARED  OUT  HIS  OLD  CUPBOARDS.     OP  LAVINIA  STBAKEE'S 

epitaph.  op  a  wedding  and  one  op  its  sequels.  of  a  removal, 
and  a  document  that  came  to  life.  how  the  father  op 
Alice's  red  man  had  been  in  fear  op  god,  and  acknowledged 

ANOTHER  of  HIS  SONS.  HOW  ALICE  WAS  DESCENDED  FROM  THE 
VICTIM  OF  A  DEVIL.      HEBREWS  THIRTEEN 

And  all  that  happened  two  years  ago.  How  the  time  does  run 
away,  to  be  sure! 

Two  years  ag-o  from  now — that  is,  you  know,  from  the  now  of 
this  particular  chapter.  How  long  ago  it  is  from  the  date  of  us  who 
write,  or  you  who  read  does  not  matter.  Quite  a  little  lifetime 
back  from  the  former  date,  that  of  the  ink  we  are  now  using.  An 
obviously  indeterminable  figure,  from  the  latter.  Perhaps  you  have 
picked  up  a  forgotten  volume  from  the  wastriff  of  a  bookseller's 
stall — the  twopennyworths  that  would  be  such  bargains  if  they 
were  wanted  at  all.  Or  your  attention  may  have  been  caught  by  a 
wealth  of  unsold  sheets  that  its  publisher  has  used  to  pack  a  pres- 
ent from  a  friend  in.  Throw  us  away,  and  read  the  present !  You 
can't  possibly  do  anything,  by  reading  this  last  chapter,  except 
excite  a  languid  curiosity  about  what  has  gone  before,  which  will 
never,  in  your  case,  be  satisfied.  And  nothing  is  more  irritating 
than  trying  to  follow  a  story  on  an  unfolded  sheet. 

When  Charles  and  Alice  had  a  wedding,  about  three  montlis 
after  we  saw  them  last,  it  was  after  much  discussion  of  whether 
they  should  take  a  new  house,  or  remain  on  at  Charley  Street. 
The  author  this  street  was  called  after  was  really,  at  heart,  anxious 
to  clear  out  of  it,  and  get  some  more  oblivion  of  his  most  unfortu- 
nate early  marriage.  But  happening,  before  overt  declaration  of 
this  feeling,  to  detect  or  suspect  a  strong  attachment  to  the  old 
residence  on  the  part  of  the  authoress  he  was  marrying,  he  not  only 
concealed  it,  but  affected  a  reluctance  to  moving  that  he  did  not 
feel.  The  reconstitution  of  all  old  arrangements  that  followed  was 
accompanied  by  many  painful  incidents  in  the  way  of  reappear- 
ance of  little  old  familiar  things  from  cupboards  that  had  never 

682 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  533 

been  opened  since  the  day  when  Lavinia  went  to  see  her  mother, 
never  went  near  her,  and  never  came  back,  for  reasons. 

Unpleasantries  of  this  sort  are  always  unwelcome,  although  as 
soon  as  they  become  memories  they  are  forgotten  with  alacrity. 
The  unworn  pair  of  gloves  with  the  little  wrap  of  silver  paper  round 
the  button;  the  long  bottle  with  Jean  Maria  Farina  on  it,  and  a 
little  eau-de-cologne  in  it  still ;  the  comb  no  longer  practical,  being 
in  two  halves,  but  kept  because  it  was  tortoise-shell;  all  these — 
from  a  drawer  that  had  mislaid  its  key,  and  had  to  be  broken  into 
— brought  back  a  thousand  other  things  to  Charles  that  he  did  not 
mind  facing  in  solitude,  but  that  he  hated  when  Alice  was  to  hand. 
On  a  high-up  shelf  in  a  cupboard,  under  a  stack  of  paper-covered 
French  novels,  was  quite  a  cubic  foot  of  soprano  songs,  most  of 
which  Charles  could  remember  Lavinia's  rendering  of;  some  of 
which  had  been  put  away  unsung,  having  probably  been  sent  by  the 
authors  to  induce  her  to  sing  them  at  concerts,  with  or  without 
remuneration.  Most  of  the  others  were  favourite  songs  of  his, 
and  made  it  clear  to  Charles  why  so  often,  when  latterly  he  asked 
for  special  songs,  these  favoxirites  were  never  to  be  found.  As 
time  went  on  his  wife's  tastes  had  always  been  in  revolt  against 
his  own. 

It  was  all  very  trying,  and  a  good  deal  of  burning  had  to  be  done. 
There  was  the  usual  "Oh,  you're  never  going  to  throw  that  away !" 
which  comes  like  a  millstone  round  the  neck,  of  the  Augean  scaven- 
ger every  time  he  thinks  he  has  registered  an  instalment  for  the 
dust-heap.  But  it  was  got  through  in  the  end,  and  all  Lavinia 
was  swept  away  except  a  glass  paperweight  with  perishable  annuals 
blooming  inside  it.  "Let's  keep  just  something,  Charley,"  said 
Alice — about  the  time  when  after  a  severe  contest  she  was  dropping 
the  "Mr." — "Only  just  a  little  Homoeopathic  Monxnnent  of  poor 

Aunt  La!     Perhaps,  after  all !"  and  as  it  was  so  very  much 

after  all  Charles  consented  to  the  paperweight. 

But  strictly  speaking,  this  paperweight  was  not  the  only  monvt- 
ment  of  "poor  Aunt  La"  that  came  to  light  just  at  this  time.  For 
Pierre,  turning  over  stray  sheets  of  paper,  stopped  suddenly  on  a 
pencil-sketch  of  a  tombstone,  with  "What's  this,  Aunty  i" 

"Whafs  what,  Pierrot?"  said  his  father.  ""Let's  look!"  But 
Alice  had  got  it  first,  and  was  looking  at  it  with  grave  eyes. 

"Ifs  nothing,  Charley  dearest,"  said  she,  and  suppressed  it. 
Pierre  was  conscious  that  it  wasn't  exactly  nothing,  but  something 
that  called  for  silence  on  his  part.  He  acquiesced — the  more  read- 
ily as  tombstones  were  grown-up  people's  concerns,  not  his.  Besides, 
Alice  invented  a  message  to  the  gardener  at  the  new  house,  and 


684  ALICE-FOE-SHORT 

packed  Master  Pierre  off  to  give  it  him.  Then  she  reproduced 
the  sketch,  and  went  across  to  Charles  with  it,  where  he  was 
burrowing,  half -choked  with  dust,  in  forgotten  lumber. 

"I  thought  you  said  it  was  only  her  name  on  the  stone,  Charley 
darling,"  said  she.  Charles  took  the  sketch  from  her,  and  his  eyes 
too  were  grave  over  it. 

"It  was  only  her  name,  on  the  old  stone,"  said  he.  "  'Lavinia 
Straker,'  and  just  the  date  of  her  death.  I  had  this  put  up  instead. 
Poor  Lav !" 

Alice  read,  thoughtfully,  from  the  drawing :  "  'Under  this  stone 
lie  the  mortal  remains  of  Lavinia,  sometime  the  beloved  wife  of 

Charles  Heath  of  No.  40 Street,  Soho,  London.    Requiescat 

in  pace,' "  and  then  remained  silent. 

"Anything  wrong,  pet?  I  had  it  done  in  English  ...  it  wasn't 
any  business  of  the  Vons,  after  all.  .  .  ." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  that,  darling.  I  was  think  of  the  'Requi- 
escat in  pace.* " 

«WeU,  Alice-for-short?" 

"I  thought  you  didn't  believe  people  requiescatted  in  pace." 
There  was  a  perverse  paradoxical  twinkle  in  Charles's  face  as  he 
answered : 

"Of  course  I  don't !    It  doesn't  mean  her.    It  means  me.  .  .  ." 

"You  !"• 

"Yes,  Miss  Kavanagh,  me!  So  you  needn't  be  so  bounceable. 
Are  you  not  aware.  Madam" — Charles  goes  on  with  a  trace  of  his 
own  old  manner — "that,  when  two  consecutive  genitives  are  fol- 
lowed by  a  word  that  demands  an  antecedent,  the  latter  of  the  two 
is  referred  to.  That  is  my  recollection,  anyhow.  The  meaning  is 
obvious ;  that  I  shall  be  obliged  to  everybody — except  your  own  dear 
self — to  say  nothing  to  me  about  her;  and  let  me  have  the  luxury 
of  forgiving  her,  if  I  choose.  .  .  ." 

"It  was  so  like  him,  altogether,"  said  Alice  to  Lady  Johnson, 
when  she  told  her  of  this  incident. 

"Oh,  yes !"  said  Peggy,  "that  was  Charley  down  to  the  ground." 

Did  you  ever  realise  that  before  Alice's  teens  set  in  Mrs,  Charles 
Heath  was,  for  years,  Aunt  La;  a  showy  woman  and  a  brilliant 
singer,  of  whom  her  husband,  "at  any  rate,"  was  fond  ?  We  are  not 
prepared  to  say  that  we  do  even  now,  without  thinking  it  over. 

However  tedious  the  job  was,  it  was  all  got  through  in  the  end. 
And  then  the  whole  domicile  was  repainted  and  papered  with  Trel- 
lis Rose  and  Honeysuckle  and  Sunflower — (we  can  give  the  address 
of  the  firm  that  makes  these  papers  if  you  want  it;  but  perhaps 
it  is  hardly  necessary) — and  Charles  and  Alice  Heath  went  away  to 


ALICE-FOE  SHORT  535 

the  North,  and  South  of  Italy,  and  the  North  of  Egypt,  and  were 
away  ever  so  long.  And  when  they  came  back  (via  the  Atlantic) 
they  were  almost  offensively  robust  and  beaming.  However,  they 
settled  down  to  producing  copy  and  were  not  disturbed  until,  more 
than  a  year  after  their  marriage,  they  were  intruded  on  by  an 
excessively  ugly,  violent,  and  ill-tempered  person,  coloured  purple, 
who  had  never  been  in  the  world  before,  and  didn't  seem  to  approve 
of  it.  In  spite  of  his  nasty  temper,  and  his  inability  to  keep  his 
breakfast  down  when  jolted,  he  got  his  own  way  in  everything. 
And  one  of  his  demands  a  trifle  later  was  that  more  roomy  premises 
should  be  provided  for  him,  rather  nearer  Harley  Street,  so  that 
his  cousin  Lucy  should  be  able  to  take  him  and  have  him,  and  his 
Granny  when  she  came  to  Harley  Street  should  be  able  to  call 
on  him  by  the  way,  and  show  him  her  watch  that  said  ting !  Alice 
said  he  said  so,  anyhow — said  so  frequently! 

"And,  oh,  Charley  darling,"  she  added  once;  "poor  dear  Old 
Jane !    Think  how  she  would  have  enjoyed  this  baby !" 

"Do  you  remember,  sweetheart,"  Charles  asked,  "that  time  about 
three  weeks  before  she  died,  when  you  said  it  was  the  second  week 
in  September?" 

"Yes!  and  she  said,  'It's  just  about  now  my  baby  was  to  have 
come !'  Oh  dear !  I  can  hear  her  saying  it  now.  I  don't  believe  she 
remembered  the  interval,  at  that  moment,  the  least." 

"Most  likely  not!  Take  care — Rupert  Daniel  has  got  at  the 
ink." 

"It's  his  hereditary  instinct."  Alice  referred  to  Rupert  Daniel 
for  confirmation,  asking  him  if  it  was  not  his  little  hereditary 
instinct  then,  and  saying  that  if  he  wanted  to  black  himself  all 
over  he  should,  he  should.  This  was  translated,  as  Rupert  Daniel 
seemed  to  require  it,  into  one  of  the  dialects  in  use.  But  his 
mother  was  not  as  good  as  her  word,  and  strangled  him  off  the 
inkstand. 

"What  does  his  hereditary  instinct  tell  him  about  the  house  in 
Avenue  Road  ?"  asked  Charles,  sitting  sideways  on  his  chair  to  fold 
his  arms  over  the  back,  and  contemplate  his  family  through  his 
own  smoke. 

"He  says  it's  no  nearer  Harley  Street  than  this,  but  that  there 
would  be  lots  of  room,  even  if  he  ever  has  a  little  sister.  He  votes 
for  going  there,  and  says  take  it  on  lease  from  Lady  Day.  Seven, 
fourteen,  or  twenty-one  years.  Only  the  landlord  must  put  the 
house  in  thorough  substantial  repair.  He'll  choose  the  papers 
himself  and  see  the  painter  about  the  colour  of  the  wood-work 
where  already  painted.    Won't  you,  my  pessusickle  soogarpum  V- 


586  ALICE-POE-SHOET 

"What  does  lie  say  about  the  rent  ?"  asked  Charles,  who  felt  the 
responsibility  of  the  proposed  step.  He  tod^  very  kindly  to  this 
indirect  way  of  getting  Alice's  sanction.  It  had  a  kind  of  flavour 
of  consultation  of  an  Oracle. 

"He  says  his  papa  is  a  silly  goose  for  not  offering  a  hundred  and 
twenty — only  if  he  was  a  little  older  he  wouldn't  splutter  so  and 
his  mamma  would  understand  him  better.  Oh,  my  sweet — my 
precious  treasure — do  take  care !  He's  got  hold  of  me  by  the  ear- 
xing  and  he'll  scratch  himself.  Come  and  get  him  off,  Charley 
darling,  before  he  murders  himself  and  me  too." — 

The  Oracle  was  detached  from  his  prey,  and  his  counsels  ac- 
cepted, presumably.  For  a  few  weeks  after,  in  spite  of  the  Charley 
Street  renovations  being  as  good  as  new,  the  negotiations  were 
(Completed  for  the  other  house,  and  Rupert  Daniel  was  arranging 
the  decorations  and  allotting  the  rooms;  at  least,  Mrs.  Charles 
Heath  said  he  was. 

And  now  the  event  we  have  to  relate  will,  we  hope,  justify  this 
Jdttle  excursion  into  the  happy  married  life  of  Charles  and  Alice; 
<of  which,  else,  we  have  no  reason  for  discoursing.  Whether  it 
threw  an  indirect  light  on  the  activity  of  the  No.  40  ghosts,  as 
"was  alleged  by  the  party  we  may  speak  of  as  their  supporters,  you 
•will  judge  when  you  are  in  possession  of  the  facts. 

A  Firm,  Community,  or  League  that  described  itself  broadly  as 
JRemovals,  but  owned  the  name  of  Tamwell,  and  in  small  confi- 
■dential  italics  on  its  card  added  that  it  was  also  Jobs  done  with 
Horse  and  Cart,  hy  the  day  or  hour — ^this  agency  had  for  two  days 
had  possession  of  both  houses;  stood  with  its  vans  at  both  doors; 
covered  the  pavements  in  front  of  each  with  a  mixed  mysterious 
flue  of  mattings  and  strange  chips,  while  it  deceived  its  horses  with 
a  vain  show  of  empty  bags  upon  their  noses;  suggesting,  but  not 
fulfilling,  the  idea  of  oats.  Its  constituents  had  bandied  instruc- 
tions across  pieces  of  furniture  at  critical  angles  of  staircases, 
i?eciprocally,  and  had  expressed  the  lowest  opinions  of  each  other's 
faculties.  There  was  not  one  of  them  who,  starting  in  a  pure 
atmosphere,  could  not  have  been  traced,  by  the  smell  of  beer  he  left 
behind,  through  the  worst  intricacies  of  the  Ituri  forest.  And  any 
two  of  them,  coming  upstairs  forwards,  gave  the  listener  unseen  the 
impression  that  one  cart-horse  was  coming  downstairs  backwards. 
And  the  hoarseness  of  them  who  shall  tell?  Or  their  sustained 
power  of  conversation  without  subject-matter?  Or  their  perspi- 
ration ? 

It  was  on  the  second  day  of  their  ministry — towards  the  dusk  of 
it — ^tha±  B,  ^irit  of  jjahilation  developed  itself  Among  them,  as 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  637 

the  very  last  van  left  the  doors  of  Charley  Street,  pursued  by  its 
youngest  abettor  known  as  "the  Boy"  with  a  forgotten  article 
that  never  should  have  seen  the  light.  He  was  proud  of  the  rescue, 
and  placed  it  inside  a  fender  on  the  tail  of  the  van.  Which  thea 
went  round  by  'Igh  Street,  instead  of  goin'  straight,  to  g>et  a  cup- 
of  Tea.  This  took  a  long  time  to  drink — was  perhaps  hot,  and 
Tamwell  had  to  put  it  in  the  saucer  and  blow  it.  It  was  not  whole- 
some Tea,  because  when  Tamwell's  components  came,  quite  an 
hour  later,  to  Avenue  Road,  they  were  all  (except  the  Boy)  arti- 
ficially concealing  its  effects. 

But  no  effort  could  disguise  a  thickness  of  speech,  nor  success- 
fully affect  a  power  of  walking  straight.  And  they  did  not  smell 
of  Tea. 

"What  is  to  be  done,  Charley  ?"  said  Alice  to  her  husband,  who 
had  come  from  his  last  last  last  look  at  the  old  home,  turning  over 
many  things  in  his  heart,  as  you  may  well  believe. 

"What's  wrong,  darling  love?" 

*'Why !  all  these  men  are  as  drunk  as  th^  can  be — they  can't 
possibly  get  the  things  in  to-night !" 

"Can't  they?  They've  got  to!"  The  delinquents  were  in  the^ 
basement,  chiefly.  Charles  penetrated  below;  and  found  them^. 
possibly  endeavouring  to  collect  themselves,  in  the  front  kitchen. 

"Now,  Mr.  Tamwell,  what  do  you  mean  by  coming  here  drunk? 
You're  all  drunk — as  drunk  as  you  can  be!" 

"No,  Shir!  Nosh  drunk  as  we  can  be!  Shober  as  we  can  be, 
Mish  Heath !"    Charles  appeared  to  give  this  consideration. 

"Perhaps  you're  right,  Mr.  Tamwell.  At  any  rate,  you're  not 
quite  so  drunk  as  you  can  be.  Now,  look  here,  all  of  you!  You 
may  just  go  to  work  again,  and  get  the  job  through.  But  every 
single  thing  you  break,  every  scrap  of  damage  done, — if  it's  only  a 
scratch  on  the  walla, — will  come  off  your  account.  Now  you  under- 
stand!" 

At  this  juncture  the  Boy,  who  was  sober,  struck  in:  "It's  my 
dad's  the  best  on  'em,  Sir !  Send  him  'ome.  Me  and  Sam  and  the 
Dook — (what  we  call  him' — the  Dook) — can  stop  on  and  end  up 
the  job.  I'll  see  to  'em."  Charles  was  puzzled  about  hia  dad,  and 
the  Boy  explained:  "The  best  on  'em,  in  the  manner  of  speaking; 
the  f orradest  you  might  say !"  So  Sam  and  the  Dook  stopped  on, 
in  charge  of  the  Boy,  who  did  his  work  nobly. 

It  was  towards  seven  o'clock,  and  the  dispositions  of  furniture 
were  going  on  by  gaslight,  when  Peggy  and  Lucy  drove  up  to  the 
house,  and  waded  upstairs  through  unallotted  furniture  breast- 
high  to  the  back  room  with  the  big  bay,  opening  on  the  Garden. 


638  ALICE-FOK-SHORT 

"Now — ^you  poor,  tired,  dirty  people,  we've  come  to  fetch  you. 
Aunty  Lissy,  your  son  has  been  reproaching  you  bitterly  for  your 
absence.  I>o  get  the  things  in  anyhow — they'll  stand  till  to-morrow 
— and  come  home  to  dinner !"  It  was  Peggy  who  spoke.  But  Lucy 
chimed  in. 

"Oh,  do  look  at  this  poor  Aunty  Lissy,  she's  quite  worn  out 
and  done  for.  Do  come  along,  Aunty,  at  once.  Never  mind  the 
things !" 

"It's  not  the  fatigue.  Juicy  dear !  It's  those  men  being  so  abom- 
inably drunk.  The  Boy's  worth  the  whole  lot  put  together.  Bring 
it  in  here!  No — not  upstairs,  Priscilla — in  here."  This  was  the 
very  last  piece  of  furniture.  It  was  the  old  table  that  we  have  so 
often  mentioned — Alice's  poor  mother's  wedding-present  that  had 
stood  so  long  in  Charles's  room.  Alice  thought  of  it  as  "the  table 
I  accepted  Charley  on." 

"You'll  have  the  legs  off,  I  tell  yer!  Turn  her  over!  Now, 
down  your  end  tmder  the  gairce — down,  your,  end!  Keep  your 
eye  on  the  bookcase — you'll  jam  the  bookcase — keep  her  off — keep 
her  off,  Sam,  yer  darned  fool !  .  .  .  There !  wot  did  I  tell  yer,  both 
on  yer?  A  tidy  job  you've  made  of  it,  and  then  you'll  say  /  done 
it!"    Thus,  volubly,  the  capable  Boy. 

Sam  was  on  the  floor,  sobered  by  having  a  tolerably  heavy  table 
on  the  top  of  him  as  he  fell.  Alice  and  Charles,  Peggy  and  Lucy, 
were  a  group  standing  back  to  keep  out  of  the  way,  in  the  room 
into  which  the  table  had  pitched  itself  and  Sam.  Priscilla  and 
Cook,  attracted  by  the  noise,  were  on  the  stairs  outside,  having 
come  from  an  upper  room.  The  Duke  and  the  Boy  in  the  doorway, 
the  former  trying  to  lay  claim  to  having  foreseen  this  and  endeav- 
oured to  prevent  it.  It  happened  because  he  wasn't  listened  to,  he 
said  drunkenly. 

As  soon  as  it  was  clear  that  no  bones  were  broken  the  table  was 
turned  face-up,  and  public  opinion  had  leisure  to  reflect  how  much 
worse  it  would  have  been  if  something  totally  different  had  hap- 
pened. It  was  at  this  point  that  Lucy  asked  what  that  was  that 
fell  out.  It  was  detected  on  the  floor  and  picked  up.  A  little  steel 
pin,  or  rod,  with  a  wooden  head  on  it. 

"Put  it  back,"  Alice  said,  "it's  a  thing  to  stop  the  drawer  coming 
out.  I  wonder  it  didn't.  You'll  see  the  little  hole,  just  the  shape 
of  the  head " 

"I  don't  see  any  little  hole." — "Oh  yes,"  Alice  said,  "it  was 
there."    And  she  came  to  find  it  herself. 

"This  is  funny,  Charley!  There's  two  little  pins,  exactly  alike. 
There  must  be  two  little  holes,  exactly  alike." 


ALICE-rOE-SHORT  539 

"I've  never  seen  more  than  one,"  says  Charles,  and  comes  to  look 
for  it.  But  both  are  looking  along  and  round  the  table-corner,  just 
over  the  drawer. 

"You're  looking  in  the  wrong  place,"  says  Lucy.  "There  it  is! 
Eight  out  in  the  middle  of  the  table."  So  it  is,  and  under  a 
momentary  impression  that  it  is  an  extra  stop,  it  is  replaced.  Then 
Alice  is  suddenly  perceptive  and  says :  "My  opinion  is  we've  all  gone 
silly.  If  it  had  been  like  that  we  never  could  have  opened  the 
drawer  without  finding  it  out !" 

"Of  course  not !"  says  Charles.  The  Duke  and  Sam,  as  authori- 
ties on  furniture,  offer  valueless  opinions,  which  acquire  nothing 
from  a  display  of  much  respectful  reserve  and  drunken  deference 
on  their  part.  The  Boy  is  more  to  the  purpose,  only  he  speaks 
with  a  tone  of  absolute  contempt  for  the  whole  human  race. 

"It  don't  b'long  with  that  drore.  No  c'nection!  'Nother  drore 
inside !  Secrecy  drore !  Opens  into  the  wacancy  when  this  is  took 
out.  You  look  t'other  side!  Correspondin'  sitiwation,  corre- 
spondin'  'ole!  .  .  .  Oh  no!  don't  you  believe  me  xinless  you  like — 
but  that's  the  way  of  it.     You  see,  Miss !" 

He  passes  over  opaque  seniorities,  and  establishes  direct  com- 
munication with  the  other  creature  in  the  room  that  is  his  own 
age,  or  thereabouts.  The  four  eyes  of  the  two  are  in  an  instant 
concentrated  on  the  table  surface.  Which  will  see  it  first,  he  or 
Lucy?  It  is  a  draw.  Both  shout  exactly  in  a  breath,  that  there 
it  is!  And  Lucy's  clean  gloved  finger,  and  the  Boy's  dirty  one, 
touch  it  at  the  same  moment.  The  Boy  is  a  proud  boy,  as  the 
second  pin  is  extracted,  the  drawer  pulled  out,  and  two  small  hidden 
unsuspected  drawers  brought  to  light;  pulled,  as  he  had  foretold, 
into  the  wacancy,  by  small  sunk  handles.  There  was  a  folded 
sheet  of  foolscap  paper  in  one  of  them  with  writing  on  it.  But 
nothing  else. 

"Charley  darling— what's  this?" — Alice,  who  speaks,  is  reading 
the  paper,  which  she  has  unfolded. 

"A  Bill !"  says  Charles  at  a  guess.  But  there  is  no  printing  on 
it,  nothing  but  handwriting.  A  formal  document,  on  old  foolscap 
with  uncut  edges  like  a  legal  document.  It  has  the  marks  of  age — 
the  faded  ink,  the  spots  of  many  sizes — ^black  asteroids  in  a  space 
that,  held  to  the  nose,  smells  of  a  law-stationer's  lumber  room — the 
damaged  edge  where  a  mouse,  long  dead,  paused  for  refreshments. 
Three  or  four  single  sheets  tied  at  the  corner  with  a  piece  of  tape, 
conveying  an  idea  of  a  claim  to  be  engrossed  on  parchment,  and 
adorned  with  the  usual  column  of  wafers  one  expects,  which  are 
your  Act  and  Deed;  and  with  a  real  seal, of  wax;  but  there  areonlj; 


540  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

signatures  and  an  informal  attestation.  An  informal  document 
altogether,  but  apparently  having  a  formal  intention. 

"Well,  Charley,  don't  stand  gaping  at  it!" 

"What  on  earth  is  it,  dear  old  boy  ?" 

"Now,  Uncle  Charley,  don't  be  ridiculous]  Here — give  it  me! 
I'll  read  it,  if  you  won't." 

Thus,  respectively,  Alice,  Peggy,  and  Lucy.  But  Charles  remains 
immovable,  with  his  eyes  on  the  paper.  He  is  looking  at  the 
signatures.     Suddenly,  he  folds  it  up  and  thrusts  it  in  his  pocket. 

"Shan't  tell!     Wait  till  after  dinner!" 

"Oh — what  a  shame!!"    8ic  omnes. 

But  Charles  stuck  to  his  point  and  carried  it,  omnibus  con- 
iradicentibus. 

Picture  to  yourself  that  after  dinner  has  come,  and  the  males. 
Sir  Rupert,  Charles,  and  his  brother  Robin,  the  Legal  Mind,  have 
promised  to  smoke  quick  and  given  their  words  they  won't  look 
at  the  paper  before  they  come  upstairs.  "All  right,"  Charles  says, 
*'I  won't  let  it  out  of  my  pocket.  Honest  Injun !"  Further,  that 
they  have  come  upstairs  and  Charles  is  tantalising  them  all  by  the 
deliberate  way  in  which  he  prepares  to  read.  However,  all  is  ready 
at  last!  But  first  he  says  to  his  wife,  whose  arms  are  round  his 
neck  from  behind  as  she  looks  over  his  shoulder,  "Look  at  the  signa- 
tures. Miss  Kavanagh!"  and  adds,  "What  do  you  say  to  that. 
Maternal  Parent?"  His  ways  of  designating  her  are  considered 
scandalous  by  his  mother,  who  is  present,  but  whom  he  is  not  in 
this  case  addressing. 

As  to  describing  the  bewildered  surprise  on  Alice's  face,  it  is 
simply  impossible.  Use  your  imagination  to  the  utmost,  is  all  we 
can  say.    What  follows  is  what  Charles  read : 

^1  the  undersigned  Edward  Cramer  Stendhal!  Luttrell,  baronet, 

of  Crewys  Morchard  in  the  County  of  Devon  and  of  No.  7 

Street,  Soho  near  the  city  of  London,  being  in  fear  of  God  and 
daily  expectation  of  death  from  mortal  disease  which  hath  for  three 
whole  years  bidden  defiance  to  the  skill  of  physicians  whether  of 
this  country  or  of  France  or  Italy,  do  hereby  affirm  and  declare 
as  my  true  testimony  in  regard  to  my  relations  with  Alice  the 
repruted  wife  of  John  Kavanagh  of  the  dairy-farm  known  as  the 
Flete  on  the  road  from  Highgate  to  London  in  the  parish  of  St. 
Saviour  by  Gospell  Oak  field.  That  Edward  Kavanagh  now  appren- 
ticed to  a  Taylor  and  reputed  the  eldest  son  of  the  above-named 
John  Kavanagh  is  in  truth  my  own  son  by  the  said  Alice  born  in  a 


ALICE-FOE-SHOET  541 

false  aspect  and  belief  of  lawful  wedlock  in  her  father's  house 
Samuel  Lecheminant  of  Barnstaple  in  the  county  of  Devon.  And 
is  registered  in  the  Parish  registers  of  that  town  as  Edward  Lut- 
trell  the  son  of  Edward  and  Alice  Luttrell  to  which  name  the  said 
Alice  did  at  that  time  believe  herself  truly  entitled," 

"That's  a  very  funny  thing  too,"  said  Sir  Rupert,  interrupting. 
"However,  never  mind!  Go  on.  I'll  tell  you  after."  Charles 
continued : — 

"For  by  no  other  means  than  a  false  ceremony  of  marriage  could 
this  young  wench  be  won,  being  then  but  seventeen  years  of  age 
and  filled  up  with  high-flown  ideas  above  and  beyond  her  place 
in  life.  Wherefore  I  being  now  on  my  death-bed,  as  I  truly  con- 
ceive, do  humbly  pray  that  God  may  forgive  her  sin  and  minev  and 
many  another  that  I  have  done  of  a  like  sort.  For  it  is  not  to  her 
alone  that  I  have  done  wrong,  neither  could  I  account  to  myself 
for  all  the  wrrongs  I  have  done  nor  of  all  the  women  to  whom  I 
have  forsworn  myself  to  deceive  them.  For  whom  too  I  pray  that 
their  sin  may  be  forgiven  as  I  doubt  not  mine  will  be,  through  no 
merit  of  mine  own,  but  through  the  grace  of  Our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  Amen !  But  in  the  case  of  this  same  Alice  Lecheminant, 
called  Kavanagh,  I  yield  to  her  uneasiness  of  conscience  and  her 
earnest  and  repeated  prayer  and  do  now  solemnly  affirm  that 
she  resolutely  defied  all  my  advances  except  she  should  be  truly 
and  honourably  my  wife.  On  which  ground  seeing  that  the  reeeniJ 
death  of  my  dearly-loved  first  wife  Barbara  Lady  Oglethorp  had 
left  me  without  reasonable  excuse  for  other  conduct,  I  was  fain  to 
give  way  to  her  scruples,  and  do  affirm  now  that  nothing  was  left 
undone  that  could  contribute  to  deceive  so  shrewd  a  young  person, 
whose  father  was  by  good-fortune  bedridden,  and  whose  mother 
was  besotted  against  myself  and  full  of  malice  and  iU-feeling,  on. 
which  account  her  daughter's  mind  was  easy  towards  her  exclu- 
sion from  our  councils.  But  there  was  need  of  contrivance  and 
expenditure  of  money  (which  had  been  better  spent  on  discharg- 
ing debts  on  my  Devonshire  estate)  to  make  such  arrangement  as- 
would  soothe  all  suspicion  of  treacherous  action.  And  I  doubt 
now  whether  I  should  have  gained  the  end  but  for  old  experience 
in  like  adventures  which  had  taught  me  wisdom.  And  I  now  make 
this  solemn  affirmation  on  Oath,  being  in  fear  of  Death  and  with 
serious  and  awful  apprehension  of  Futurity;  in  part  that  Alice 
Lecheminant  (or  Kavanagh)  may  bear  in  mind  that  if  ye  forgive 
not  men  their  trespasses  neither  wiU  your  Father  forgive  you  your 


542  ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 

trespasses  (Matt.  vi.  15)  and  may  turn  in  time,  as  I  have  done, 
unto  the  Rock  of  our  Salvation ;  but  in  some  part  also  on  this  con- 
dition that  the  said  Alice  shall  sign  an  undertaking  that  she  will 
forego  all  claim  soever  on  me  as  a  husband,  acknowledging  her 
ceremonial  of  marriage  with  me  to  have  been  invalid  and  informal, 
however  much  she  may  have  thought  otherwise  at  the  time.  And 
further  that  for  my  greater  security  from  all  such  claim  she  shall 
solempnise  Holy  Matrimony  with  the  said  John  Kavanagh,  thereby 
incurring  the  penalty  of  Bigamy  should  mine  own  marriage  with 
her  ever  be  proven.  And  further  that  the  said  John  Kavanagh  in 
consideration  of  his  accommodation  to  this  end  shall  enjoy  the 
use  and  emolument  rent-free  during  his  life  of  the  Farm  he  now 
occupies  aforesaid  without  prejudice  to  my  own  manorial  rights 
therein.  And  shall  be  indemnified  in  respect  of  all  expenses  he  may 
incur. 

"And  in  confirmation  of  the  above  attestation  I  now  append  my 
signature  this  third  day  of  February  seventeen  hundred  and  thirty- 
three,  at  my  house  situate  and  being  No.  7 Street,  Soho. 

"(signed)  Edward  Cramer  Stendhall  Luttrell. 

"(witnessed)  Dorothy  Kelsey, 

"(Housekeeper  to  the  above)." 

This  singular  document  could  not  be  understood  in  one  reading. 
Charles  had  no  sooner  finished  it  than  he  turned  back,  and  re-read 
the  whole  more  slowly,  no  one  interrupting  him.  A  pause  of  silence 
followed,  and  then  Peggy  found  her  voice: 

"What  a  hideous  monster!" 

"And  what  a  loathsome  hypocrite !"    This  was  Alice. 

"Man  of  the  world,  my  dears,  man  of  the  world."  This  was 
Charles. 

"But  I  want  to  know  what  relation  Alice  Le-thingummy  was  of 
Aunty  Lissy."  This  was  Lucy,  who  perhaps  only  half  grasped  the 
full  iniquity  revealed ;  certainly  she  could  not  grasp  its  motives. 

"My  dear  Lucy,"  this  was  her  Grandmother,  majestically,  "I  can 
only  say  when  I  was  a  little  girl  of  your  age,  I  was  always  sent 
to  bed.  "Yes — always — whenever  documents  of  this  sort  were  got 
out  and  read  aloud." 

"You  never  saw  a  document  like  it  in  your  life — come.  Grandma ! 
besides,  I'm  right !  How  came  it  in  Aunty  Lissy's  father's  drawer  ? 
That's  what  7  want  to  know." 

"Siippose  you  shut  up,  some  of  you,  while  I  read  the  rest."  Thus 
Charles,  and  popular  assent  followed.  On  the  back  of  one  sheet 
was  written  in  a  woman's  hand,  in  blacker  ink. 


ALICE-FOK-SHORT  543 

"January  16,  1751. — I,  Alice  Luttrell,  nee  Lecheminant,  actually 
the  wife  of  Sir  Edward  Cramer  Luttrell  whose  signature  is  overleaf 
did  eighteen  years  since  sign  in  exchange  for  this  a  relinquish- 
ment of  all  claim  as  a  wife  on  the  said  Sir  Cramer,  and  did  then 
contract  lawful  matrimony  with  my  supposed  husband  John 
Kavanagh,  thereby  incurring  risk  of  bigamy.  This  I  did  for  the 
reason  that  had  I  not  done  so  I  myself  and  my  supposed  husband 
John  Kavanagh,  then  in  broken  health  and  a  cripple,  had  been 
turned  into  the  street.  Yet  even  this  I  refused  to  do  except  this 
wicked  man  whom  nevertheless  I  could  not  but  love,  seeing  he  was 
my  husband,  should  bear  testimony  to  his  own  deception,  practised 
on  a  young  girl  quite  innocent  of  this  world  and  its  wickedness. 
And  as  he  has  done  this,  so  will  I  pray  for  him  as  he  for  me,  for 
that  I  have  loved  him  in  despite  of  myself.  Else  I  should  have 
prayed  that  he  might  expiate  his  sins  in  Hell. 

"AucE  Kavanagh." 

"Here's  some  more  in  another  hand,  written  in  pencil,"  said 
Charles.    And  then  read : — 

"Edward  Kavanagh  born  1710  was  my  great-grandfather.  My 
grandfather  John  Kavanagh  was  born  1784  or  5.  This  Alice  Kav- 
anagh was  his  great-grandmother.  H  this  document  is  found 
after  my  death  I  want  whoever  finds  it  on  no  account  to  let  my 
half-brother  Jonathan  get  it  as  his  game  in  doing  so  would  be  for 
no  good  and  to  spite  me.  Also  the  same  is  untrustworthy  and  has 
no  right  to  anything  of  mine.  I  have  seen  lawyers  to  find  if  there 
is  money  in  it  but  all  go  against  it.  Samuel  Kavanagh  114  Pratt 
Street.    Camden  Town.    November  16  1844." 

The  tempest  of  discussion  that  followed  this  no  doubt  cleared 
up  the  ideas  of  those  who  took  part  in  it  about  what  the  actual 
story  was,  its  moral  and  legal  aspects.  To  our  mind  the  former 
was  well  expressed  by  the  lady  known  to  Peggy  and  Alice  as  poor 
dear  Robin's  uninteresting  wife.  We  have  seen  nothing  of  her,  and 
feel  she  ought  to  say  something  in  the  story.  What  she  said  was : 
"Oh  dear,  oh  dear !  this  is  all  very  shocking !"    We  agree. 

We  are  not  qualified  to  agree  or  disagree  with  her  husband's 
exposition  of  the  legal  aspects.  But  we  cannot  help  suspecting 
that  the  fact  that  the  interests  of  a  very  dear  brother  (for  Charley 
was  very  dear  to  all  his  family)  and  his  wife  were  concerned 
caused  him  to  infuse  an  unprofessional  amount  of  common-sense 
into  the  letter  he  wrote  to  Charles  after  thinking  it  well  over. 


U€r  ALICE-FOE-SHOET 

If  yon  will  jTist  have  patience  till  we  have  recorded  mi  excerpt 
of  conversation  between  Sir  Rupert  and  Lady  Johnson  after  they 
had  retired  (very  late)  for  the  night,  we  will  give  you  Robin  Q.  C.'a 
letter  in  full. 

"I  say.  Dr.  Jomson " 

"Wait  till  I've  done  splashing!    Now.'* 

"Why  did  you  say  ^that's  a  very  funny  thing  too  ?  Never  mind, 
go  on  f    I  forgot  to  ask  you  in  all  the  rumpus." 

"Oh,  ah!  To  be  sure!  Do  you  remember,  darling,  how  I  came 
down  to  Shellacombe  in  a  boating  suit  V 

"Rather !"    Emphasis  can  say  no  more. 

"Do  you  remember  I  told  you  about  my  old  mirse  at  Barn- 
staple— old  Sarah  Barrett  ?" 

"I  remember — she  was  ninety  and  a  twin — and  had  had  four 
husbands  and  no  children." 

"Well !  the  second  husband  was  a  Lecheminant.  And  she  showed 
me  in  the  churchyard  a  curious  epitaph  of  an  aunt  of  his,  who 
must  have  been  this  very  Alice.     As  near  as  I  recollect,  it  ran: 

'Alice  L .    The  victim  of  a  Devil.'    Then  there  was  a  Scripture 

reference.  Hebrews  thirteen,  I  think  it  was.  I  remember  I 
resolved  to  look  up  Hebrews  thirteen,  and  you  knocked  it  all  out 
of  my  head.  Then  next  day  was  Alice  and  The  Beetle."  (This  is, 
as  it  were,  the  title  of  a  chapter  in  their  lives.) 

"Now  really,  Rupert  darling,  you  might  have  told  us  that  down- 
stairs.    Think  how  interesting!" 

"Well! — ^I  had  it  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue  to  tell  it.  But  then 
I  thought  as  like  as  not  Hebrews  thirteen  was  just  as  well  not 
trotted  out  with  penetrating  intelligent  Lucys  all  over  the  place, 
like  lynxes.    We'll  look  it  up  to-mxirrow." 

"Do  you  remember  the  great  white  cloud  over  the  offing  that  day, 
tihat  never  went?" 

"Yes!  And  the  dog  that  wouldii't  go  in  the  water  after  my 
stick  ?    And  Alice  the  pony  ?" 

"And  Alice's  performance  of  the  lidy  with  the  spots  ?" 

"The  spots  that  flowed  away.  And  the  sheep  that  ran  about? 
And  how  scared  you  were  at  the  accident?" 

"Well,  love!  who  wouldn't  have  been  scared?  Just  think  how 
different  things  would  have  been  now,  susposing  we'd  all  gone  in 
the  water  together."  .  .  . 

And  so  the  conversation  ran  on  till  sleep  stopped  it.  You  have 
read  the  substance  of  it  all  in  Chapter  XV. 


CHAPTER  LI 

OF  SIR  CRAMER  STENDHALL  LUTTRELL's  WILL,  AKD  HOW  ALICe's  PROP- 
ERTY WAS  TOO  LARGE  TO  CLAIM.  HOW  SHE  LET  IT  ALONE  AND  WAS 
HAPPY.  OF  A  CAT  SHE  COULD  REMEMBER  IN  THE  AREA,  AND  THE 
STRANGENESS  OF  THINGS 

A  WEEK  or  more  elapsed  before  Robin's  letter  came.  Charles 
and  Alice  had  already  decided  that  nnder  no  circumstances  would 
they  institute  proceedings  to  prove  their  claim  to  one  of  the  largest 
collieries  in  England.  Nevertheless,  they  were  glad  to  have  their 
decision  supported  by  legal  opinion. 

Robin's  letter  was  as  follows: — 

"167  Bevgkshire  Place  W., 

Apr:  11, 187,9. 
"My  Dear  Charley, 

"I've  found  the  will  after  hunting  half  through  the  Preroga- 
tive Calendars.  Copy  enclosed-  You'll  see  that  the  testator  was 
entirely  under  the  influence  of  his  son.  He  acts  'always  with  the 
knowledge  and  consent  of  my  dear  son  ...  in  whom  I  have  abso- 
lute confidence,'  and  whom  he  names  sole  executor.  His  dear  son 
bad  evidently  convinced  his  dear  father  that  if  he  left  the  unen- 
tailed property  to  Esther  Kaimes  as  the  daughter  of  his  lawful 
wife  the  Dowager  Lady  Luttrell,  and  Esther's  legitimacy  was  called 
in  question,  her  inheritance  might  miscarry.  No  doubt  he  said  to 
his  papa:  'You  can't  suggest  that  Esther  is  illegitimate,  but  you 
can  make  sure  that  she  shall  inherit,  whether  or  no !'  And  then  he 
developed  his  ring-trick,  always  affecting  great  concern  on  Esther's 
behalf.  As  to  whether  the  old  scoundrel  was  too  easily  duped  by 
the  young  one — well!  consider  what  failing  powers  and  approach- 
ing death  mean.  Fancy  yourself  sinking:  and  how  you  would 
lean  on  the  strong  support  of  a  devoted  son! 

"As  io  the  validity  of  such  a  Will,  it  must  have  depended  entirely 
(to  my  thinking)  on  how  far  the  ring  was  produced  simply  as  evi- 
dence of  identity;  I  can't  conceive  any  judicial  ruling  that  the 
chance  possession  of  that  ring  by  an  illegitimate  dauglnter  not 
intended  by  the  Testator  could  constitute  a  legal  claim. 

"Apart  from  this,  if  a  claim  were  made  ito  propexty  after  the 

545 


646  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

lapse  of  a  thousand  years  there  is  nothing  so  far  as  I  know  in  the 
constitution  of  the  Court  of  Chancery  to  prevent  a  consideration 
of  the  case  on  its  merits,  and  (theoretically  at  least)  the  claimant 
might  succeed  in  asserting  his  title.  But  it  is  very  doubtful  if  any 
evidence  could  be  produced  which  would  prevent  a  Court  of  Equity 
doing  what  it  has  a  perfect  right  to  do,  and  taking  advantage  of  the 
existing  Statutes  of  Limitations.  That  would  be  the  usual  course : 
and  in  the  present  case  the  hundred  and  thirty  years  would  be 
fatal. 

"When  old  Sir  Cramer  died,  young  Sir  Cramer  was  caught  in  a 
trap  of  his  own  setting.  No  ring  was  forthcoming,  and  Vixen- 
croft  became  the  property  of  Blaydon  School.  Whether  it  really 
became  so  legally  is  more  than  doubtful.  The  Law  of  Mortmain 
as  it  stood  at  the  date  of  the  will  may  have  appeared  to  sanction 
a  bequest  of  real  property  in  perpetuity  to  an  institution  like 
Blaydon  School.  But  to  my  mind  the  existence  of  such  a  bequest 
argues  that  no  legal  advice  was  taken  in  this  matter.  The  father 
and  son  cooked  it  up  between  them.  And  the  son  did  not  trouble 
himself  about  the  Reversionary  Legatees.  He  didn't  mean  ihem 
to  inherit. 

"But  even  if  the  title  was  sound  when  the  will  was  written,  it  is 
far  from  certain  that  it  was  so  when  it  was  signed.  The  signature 
was  appended,  oddly  enough,  on  the  very  day  when  the  present 
Statute  of  Mortmain  came  into  operation,  presumably  at  midday. 
If  the  last  signature  was  written  at  eleven  fifty-five  on  June  24, 
1836,  the  Will  might  have  held  good  under  the  old  Acts  or  tisages, 
but  if  at  twelve-five  it  would  come  under  the  present  Act. 

"So  there's  a  chance  of  voiding  the  title,  for  the  ghosts.  Couldn't 
they  prove  that  the  Will  was  witnessed  after  twelve  o'clock  ? 

"You  and  Alice  must  not  imagine  that  the  possession  of  the  ring 
and  the  proof  (sufficient  to  my  mind)  that  Alice  is  an  illegitimate 
descendant  of  Sir  Luttrell  can  make  you  possessors  of  the  Pen- 
carrow  Weald  Collieries,  which  is,  if  you  please,  the  'Vixencroft 
estate'  of  the  Will! 

"Your  Affect:  Bro: 
"R. 

"P.  S. — There  must  have  been  some  traditions  current  in  Alice's 
family,  or  somehow,  somewhere;  because  the  No.  40  ghosts  were 
all  made  to  match  the  story.  Otherwise  the  ghosts  were  ghosts. 
Which  is  absurd.    Q.  E.  D." 

The  extracts  from  Sir  Cramer  Stendhall  Luttrell's  Will  were 
long,  although  containing  only  the  portions  of  interest  to  Charles 


ALICE-FOE-SHORT  647 

and  Alice;  and  as  the  letter  has  already  given  you  some  of  its 
contents,  we  shall  not  give  the  whole.  The  important  point  was, 
that  after  dealing  with  a  very  considerable  property  outside  his 
entailed  family  estate,  which  with  a  few  legacies  made  up  the 
total  not  devised  to  his  widow  for  life,  in  the  event  of  his  not 
marrying  again,  the  will  went  on  to  what  was  really  only  a  small 
item  in  this  total,  the  Pencarrow  Weald,  or  Vixencroft  farm  or 
farms,  in  a  very  peculiar  way.  Old  Mrs.  Verrinder  had  remem- 
bered rightly;  this  property  was  actually  left  (without  specifying 
any  heir  by  name)  "to  whomsoever  of  my  female  descendants  shall 
be  by  lawful  means  in  possession  of  the  ring  containing  the  Mysoor 
diamond  taken  by  my  brother  Denis  Stendhall  Luttrell  from  the 
finger  of  Shubadar  Khan  Bahadoor  at  the  battle  of  Chingleput  and 
given  to  me  by  him  on  the  day  of  his  duel  with  Lord  Cairndrum 
of  Saltoun  whereby  he  came  by  his  death.  Which  Lord  hath  ren- 
dered accotint  to  me  since  of  his  deed,  and  may  God  have  mercy  on 
his  Soul!  And  this  property  of  Pencarrow  Weald  in  the  north- 
riding  of  Yorkshire  I  give  and  bequeath  to  such  female  descendant 
of  mine  whether  she  shall  have  been  born  in  lawful  wedlock  or  not, 
if  a  daughter;  but  only  if  lawfully  born  in  other  case.  And  that 
there  may  be  no  doubt  whatever  of  the  identity  of  this  diamond  I 
have  caused  it  to  be  set  with  other  stones  in  a  ring  in  a  manner 
to  place  it  beyond  doubt  that  it  is  truly  this  diamond  and  no  other. 
And  I  have  arranged,  with  the  full  concurrence  and  consent  of  my 
dear  Son  and  Sole  Executor  of  these  presents,  that  these  stones 
shall  be  as  foUoweth:  Sapphire,  Lapis  Lazuli,  Jacynth,  Pearl, 
Tourmaline,  Emerald,  Ruby,  Amethyst,  and  the  Diamond  afore- 
named. Also  therein  a  second  Sapphire  and  Emerald  and  Lapis 
Lazuli;  and,  by  the  advice  of  my  dear  Son,  on  whom  I  rely  in  all 
matters  of  prudence  and  foresight,  I  have  caused  one  blank  space 
to  contain  no  precious  stone  at  all,  and  but  a  piece  of  plain  ivory, 
that  being  in  his  Judgment  a  most  sure  and  safe  aid  to  a  perfect 
identification  of  this  ring  should  any  doubt  arise  to  call  it  in  ques- 
tion." Then  followed  an  appointment  of  reversionary  legatees; 
naming  first  the  school  in  his  own  county  of  Hereford  where  the 
testator  (presumably)  was  educated.  It  had  been  ascertained,  since 
the  finding  of  the  Will  (from  the  Pencarrow  Company's  solicitors 
— intimate  friends  of  Robin),  that  the  property  had  passed  to  this 
school  and  remained  in  its  possession  for  thirty  years.  It  was 
then  sold  to  a  private  individual  who  died  shortly  after.  His  son, 
who  inherited  it,  lost  it  at  cards.  The  successful  card-player  found 
out  about  the  coal,  and  promoted  the  Company. 
As  Alice,  after  reading  thus  far,  re-read  through  the  list  of 


548  ALICE-EOR-SHOET 

stones,  Charles  took  her  hand  in  his,  and  turned  the  ring' — the  very 
ring  itself! — round  on  her  finger. 

"They  are  all  there  now,"  said  he,  "Ivory  and  all." — Alice  shud- 
dered and  felt  creepy.  "But  just  think,"  Charles  continued,  "how 
the  amiable  son  must  have  ehnckled  as  he  read  through  the  stones 
backwards !" 

"I'm  so  glad,"  said  Alice,  "that  he  ran  Lord  Caimdrum;  through 
for  running  his  brother  through.  It  showed  he  had  something 
good  about  him." 

"Did  it?"  said  Charles. 

"Well!  you  know  what  I  mean,  darling.  I  mean  that  a  little 
honest,  savage  revenge  ia  like  a  breath  of  fresh  air  among  such  a 
parcel  of  skunks."  Charles  agreed.  Was  there  any  more  of  the 
Will  ?  he  asked.  That  was  all  there  was  of  interest.  There  was  no 
mention  of  Alice  Lecheminant,  nor  of  any  of  her  fellow-victims. 

"And  this  man,"  said  Alice,  "was  the  father  of  the  red  man  I 
saw  with  the  knife.  Ugh!  Do  you  know,  dearest,  I  can  always 
shiver  at  the  recollection  of  him,  even  now !" 

"Dearest  love,  when  you  talk  like  that  you  remind  me  of  Alice- 
for-short  in  the  extensive  basement  with  cellarage.  I  can  almost 
see  the  horrid  black  area  again,  and  the  cats." 

"I  remember  the  cats.  There  was  a  yellow  one  with  one  eye 
out.  It  was  named  Barleycorn.  I  don't  know  why,  nor  who  named 
it.  I  had  forgotten  it  altogether  till  this  minute.  How  funny  it 
aUis!" 


FEna 


ADDENDUM 

*(The  following  is  an  extract  from  the  diary  of  the  larke  Abb6 
Bernardin  Fabrot,  of  Boulestin  FAnnonay,  a  most  accomplished 
man  and  industrious  scholar,  who  died  in  1643.  The  diary  is  full 
of  such  lengthy  narratives,  chiefly  interesting.  It  is  to  be  hoped 
that  the  whole  may  one  day  be  given  to  the  world.  As  the  Abbe 
expresses  strong  opinions  about  the  obligations  of  Father  Con- 
fessors, we  must  suppose  that  he  did  not  regard  this  communica- 
tion as  coming  under  the  seal  of  confession,  and  need  be  under  no 
scruple  about  publishing  it.)" 

(The  above  is  the  editorial  note  accompanying  its  publication  in 
the  Journal  d'Eier,  February  29,  1853.) 

"May  27,  1813. — I  have  just  come  from  visiting  the  poor  Mi- 
chaud.  Latterly  I  have  seen  him  twice  in  the  week.  But  this  is 
the  third  time  this  week.  For  he  cannot  last  long,  le  pauvre  Is- 
rael! His  cough  has  been  better  since  the  mild  season,  but  he  is 
very  old.  He  will  not  see  his  hundredth  birthday,  assuredly. 
Nevertheless,  two  years  ago  I  had  anticipated  it. 

"I  will  charge  myself  with  the  painful  labour  of  writing  out  the 
strange  story  he  has  told  me  of  the  murder  in  .  .  .  But  here  I  feel 
myself  stopped.  I  cannot  give  the  name  of  the  street  nor  the  quar- 
ter in  Paris  where  this  frightful  crime  was  committed.  For  Israel 
Michaud  will  tell  nothing  of  its  whereabouts.  He  has  only  t&ld 
me  one  or  two  names  (as  he  has  said,  *by  a  lapsus  linguae')*  desir- 
ing always  to  shrink  from  involving  others,  or  their  ancestors' 
memory.  I  cannot  identify  by  these  names;  l3aey  are  not  uncoia- 
mon  names,  and  the  time  is  long  ago. 

"Two  days  past,  the  poor  Israel  accosted  me  thus  as  I  sat  by  his 
bedside  thinking  how  strange  it  was  I  should  know  this  man  so 
well,  for  himself,  yet  know  so  little  of  his  prorenance  and  ante- 
cedents.   I  will  give  his  words  the  nearest  that  I  can  recall  them. 

"  *YoTi  have  well  said,  M.  I'Abbe,  that  it  is  in  vain  we  choke 
back  (on  a  beau  sufFoquer)  a  guilty  knowledge ;  for  that  God  knows 
all,  and  can  read  all  hearts.  But  your  blameless  life  has  left  you 
to  know  nothing  of  how  a  guilty  secret  may  burden  the  soul  of  him 

5^ 


650  ADDENDUM 

who  possesses  it,  little  as  he  may  have  shared  the  giiilt,  but  always 
— always  dreading  the  consequences  of  his  confession  to  others — 
to  others,  M.  I'Abbe,  whom  he  cannot  absolve,  but  must  needs 
love.  .  .  .'    He  was  interrupted  by  his  cough. 

"'Tell  me,'  I  said,  when  he  had  recovered,  and  lay  exhausted, 
'tell  me  as  much  as  you  are  willing  I  should  know.  No  more!  I 
will  not  ask  you  for  name  nor  place.  I  will  guard  your  secret  as 
though  I  were  of  your  faith,  and  your  confessor.  But  I  will  forego 
the  confessor's  right  to  hear  all.  All  I  desire  is  that  you  should 
ease  your  mind.' 

"  'Ah — mon  pere — but  you  are  good !  And  you  will  ask  me  noth- 
ing— ^nothing  of  the  others — only  of  myself  ?' 

"  'I  promise  it.    Trust  yourself  to  me.' 

"  'Then  I  will  tell  you.  But  I  will  tell  you  slowly,  else  I  may  be 
arrested  by  my  cough.'  He  then  continued  as  follows,  with  pauses 
as  I  have  indicated  them,  I  sitting  always  silent  by  his  bed : — 

"  'As  a  boy  I  was  placed  out  in  service  by  my  father  with  the 
Sibur  Latioille.  .  .  .  Ah,  my  God!  how  confused  I  get!  (comme 
je  me  confonds)  ...  I  had  promised  myself  to  tell  no  name  even 
to  you!  .  .  •  He  had  a  son  of  my  own  age — a  brave  lad,  but 
furious  as  a  wild  beast  when  roused.  He  made  of  me  a  friend, 
servitor  though  I  was.  We  were  together  as  boys,  in  the  play- 
ground as  also  in  the  schoolroom,  for  my  elder  patron  his  father 
gave  me  also  some  education,  which  I  needed.  Had  I  not  loved 
him  otherwise,  I  should  have  loved  him  because  he  was  the  son  of 
an  old  and  beloved  master,  to  whom  I  owed  everything,  and  for 
whom  I  would  have  died.  .  .  . 

"  'It  is  seventy-five  years — yes !  M.  I'Abbe,  seventy-five  years 
since  I  was  first  in  service,  after  the  old  man's  death,  in  the  family 
of  his  son — you  will  pardon  me,  M.  I'Abbe,  that  I  do  not  give  his 
name,  nor  that  of  his  residence;  I  thank  you  for  allowing  me  to 
omit  all  names.  To  what  end  should  I  resume  them,  when  in  fact 
the  whole  affair  relates  to  seventy-five  years  ago — and  now  they  are 
all  dead !  All  dead  long  since ;  my  master  and  his  wife,  their  sons 
and  daughters;  even  the  last  one  I  knew  of  as  still  living — his 
brother's  daughter — very  old,  nearly  as  old  as  I  am.  For  I,  M. 
I'Abbe,  have  ninety-seven  years.  It  is  true,  and  so  is  the  tale  I  have 
to  tell,  for  my  memory  is  clear,  and  all  comes  back  to  me  as 
yesterday.  .  .  . 

"  'Yes — and  it  is  seventy-five  years  since  that  terrible  night,  the 
most  terrible  I  have  ever  experienced.  Seventy-five  since  he,  my 
master  then — although  my  brother  still — came  to  the  room  where 


ADDENDUM  551 

I  slept ;  and  shaking  me  by  the  shoulder,  for  I  slept  sound,  said  in 
a  voice  that  I  can  hear — ^yes !  my  God,  I  can  hear  it  now — "Wake 
up,  Israel,  wake  up  and  help!  I  have  slain  my  sister,  and  know 
not  where  to  put  her  away.    Wake  up  and  help !" 

"'Figure  to  yourself,  M.  I'Abbe,  that  in  the  first  moment  I 
believed  myself  the  victim  of  a  frightful  nightmare  from  Hell  (un 
veritable  cauchemar  d'Enfer),  for  we  were  without  any  light.  But 
I  rose  trembling,  and  could  scarce  strike  a  light  for  trembling — 
indeed,  I  had  much  ado  to  find  the  flint-and-steel  (pierre  a  fusil) 
while  he  chafed  with  impatience  in  the  dark.  And  then  when  the 
lamp  burned  slowly  up,  I  saw  him.  And  his  face  was  white  and 
like  a  Devil's,  for  the  anger  was  still  on  it.  He  was  still  in  his 
costimie-de-bal — for  there  had  been  a  great  ball  in  the  house,  and 
card-play  till  late,  and  somewhat  of  riot  and  confusion  at  the  end, 
as  was  not  uncommon  in  that  day.  And  as  he  stood  there,  his  coat 
of  red  silk,  worked  over  in  broderies  de  sole,  and  the  red  facings  of 
his  long  waistcoat,  reaching,  as  was  then  the  custom,  nearly  to  his 
knee,  were  not  so  red  as  the  drops  I  saw  on  the  blade  he  stiD 
grasped  in  his  right  hand,  while  his  left  was  on  his  heart  as  though 
from  pain. 

« i  u^y  master,"  said  I,  when  I  refound  my  voice,  "all  I  am  is 
yours.    Tell  me  all,  and  trust  me." 

"  '  "I  have  killed  my  sister,  Israel,"  said  he  again — ^"I  have  struck 
her  here,  through  the  heart,  with  this  sword.  This  blood  that  you 
see,  is  her  blood,  and  the  blood  of  my  father,  and  her  mother — not 
mine !"  And  he  lifted  the  hand  that  was  on  his  heart,  and  struck 
it  back  as  he  said  the  word.  Then  he  cried  out,  yet  keeping  his 
voice  under  as  in  fear:  "Quick — ^give  me  some  rag — God's  curse 
be  on  the  blood!"  Then,  with  some  clout  of  rag  (torchon)  that 
I  gave  him,  he  wiped  the  sword  all  its  length,  and  flung  the  rag 
from  him  as  though  it  stung  him.  But  he  continued  holding  the 
sword  and  I  saw  there  was  no  scabbard,  and  wondered.  But  I 
heard  after. 

"  *  "It  is  not  true,"  he  cried  in  the  same  voice,  but  as  though  he 
answered  some  one.  "It  is  not  true  1  I  am  not  Cain,  say  what  they 
may!     She  was  no  more  my  sister  than  a  many  others — some  I 

know  not  of "    Then,  stopping  suddenly,  he  caught  me  by  the 

arm,  and  said:  "Help  me,  Israel!  She  is  dead,  by  her  own  fault. 
Why  did  she  madden  me  as  she  did  ?  Oh,  that  I  had  not  had  this 
accursed  sword! — But  to  what  good  is  all  this?  She  is  dead. 
Would  you  that  I  should  die  too — on  a  gibbet?"  For  in  those 
days,  M.  I'Abbe,  we  had  no  guillotine.  .  .  .' 

"At  this  point  the  old  man  stopped.    He  was  exhausted;  and  I 


155^  ADDENDUM 

saw  that  I  shotild  have  to  be  patient,  and  accept  the  story  as  it 
came,  I  made  him  take  a  little  coffee,  with  a  few  drops  of 
cognac  in  it,  and  it  revived  him.  I  saw  he  was  anxious  to  con- 
tinue. 

"  'How  much  have  I  told  of  it,  M,  I'Abbe?' 

"  'Your  master  says  to  you,  M.  Israel,  would  you  that  he  too 
should  die,  on  a  gibbet.' 

"  *Ah,  truly,  yes !  I  can  see  him  now,  as  he  hears  me  swear  that 
whatever  he  may  have  done,  he  may  entrust  himself  to  my  fidelity. 
^'Come  with  me,"  he  says.  And  we  go  together.  And  then  I 
follow  him  along  the  long  passage  that  leads  from  my  room  to  the 
kitchen.  And  I  am  able  to  see  that  it  is  already  daylight — ^jxtst 
before  sunrise — and  that  what  I  thought  was  the  darkness  of  night 
was  but  the  closed  shutter  of  my  room,  and  that  he  had  shut  the 
'door  before  he  spoke.  And  when  I  am  going  to  blow  out  the  lamp 
I  carry  he  says  to  me:  "Do  not — it  will  be  wanted."  Por  it  was 
troublesome  to  get  a  light  in  those  days. 

"  'We  go  into  the  kitchen,  where  all  is  daric,  though  one  may  see 
the  dawn  through  the  shn-tter-cracks.  I  go  first,  for  he  puts  me 
first,  and  follows  me,  flinching  back  (reculant).  I  go  first,  always 
in  a  shivering  fit  (en  frisson).  There  is  a  draught  down  the  chim- 
ney, and  a  smell  of  soot,  for  the  weather  is  suddenly  warm,  and 
the  air  in  the  house  cold — at  least  in  houses  of  this  sort.  For  I 
must  tell  you,  M.  I'Abbe,  that  this  house  was  not  like  the  houses 
in  this  quarter  of  Paris ;  there  were  many  like  it  there,  though ! 
The  entresol  was  below  the  level  of  the  street,  and  one  descended 
to  it  by  a  stairway.  It  was  dark  too — very  dark — 'dark  at  all  times, 
even  in  the  day.  So  one  sees  it  was  little  wonder  I  should  have 
struck  the  light,  believing  it  night. 

"  'Well !  We  go  in.  I  place  the  lamp  on  the  chimney-shelf,  to 
shield  it  from  the  draught,  and  go  to  open  the  shutter.  But  he 
will  not  permit  me  to  open  it  fully — nor  to  touch  but  only  one — 
nor  to  go  near  the  other  window  till  there  is  light.  Then,  when 
the  gleam  comes  in  of  day  from  without,  I  see  what  is  lying  under 
the  other  window. 

"  'Understand   me,   M.   I'Abbe !    I   did   not   love   this   Madame 

Quesnes.     Who  did? '     He  stopped  suddenly,  and  reproached 

himself  for  having  again  let  slip  a  name  he  had  wished  to  reserve. 
I  pointed  out  to  him  how  little  it  must  matter,  after  so  many  years. 
If,  I  said,  it  had  even  been  twenty  or  thirty  years,  and  the  culprit 
had  been  still  living,  it  would  have  been  another  matter.  But  I 
should  not  consider  it  my  duty  to  reveal  any  portion  of  what  he 
might  1»Il;  and  iadeed   confidered  myseH  uader  the  pledge  of 


ADDEKDUM  £fiS 

secrecy,  as  much  as  though  the  story  had  been  given  in  the  Con- 
fessionaL*    He  seemed  reassured,  and  proceeded. 

"  *No  one  loved  this  lady — haughty,  defiant,  vain,  close  with 
money,  and  in  her  soul  cruel,  and  bitter  of  tongue.  But  to  see 
her  lying  there — stabbed  to  the  heart  by  her  own  brother,  her  blood 
still  oozing  out  on  the  flowered  silk  of  the  rich  robe-de-bal  she  had 
been  dancing  in  but  an  hour  since — Oh,  but  it  was  horrible,  hor- 
rible !'  Michaud  paused,  pressing  his  fingers  on  hia  eyes,  as  though 
he  saw  it  all  again  and  would  shut  out  the  sight — then  went  on :  '1 
can  see  the  white  face  now,  M.  I'Abbe, — the  arms  thrown  straight 
above  the  head — the  eyes  that  glare — the  bloodless  lips  that  part — 
the  teeth  still  close  set — ^for  she  was  but  just  dead.  I  see,  a  pace 
away  upon  the  floor,  the  hand-lamp  she  had  carried — I  knew  it  for 
hers — and  the  broken  glass  tliat  had  rolled  upon  the  floor.  Then  I 
look  round  and  see  her  brother,  my  master ;  still  holding  the  sword 
that  had  slain  her,  gazing  aslant,  with  his  face  set,  on  the  work  he 
could  not  undo.  And  I  hear  him  speak  again  a  quick,  suffocated 
whisper  (demi-voix  etoiiffante)  that  has  to  fight  with  his  teeth.  I 
can  hear  them  close  against  it  and  cut  it  short,  by  jerks. 

"  *  "There  is  no  time,  Israel,  no  time !  It  must  be  done  now,  at 
once — before  the  household  wakes.  There  is  none  I  can  trust — 
none  but  you,  mon  Israel."  Then  he  gasps  twice  before  he  can  say : 
"It  must  be  done  now  at  once — ^underground!"  And  he  pointa 
down. 

"  '  "But  where,  mon  maitre  ?    If  we  remove  it ^' 

" '  "Bah,  my  friend,  you  are  a  fool !  We  cannot  remove  it.  We 
must  find  a  place  here — here  at  hand — some  dark  cellar.  Theare 
are  plenty  such,  and  you  know  them  better  than  I  do»  Thimk!' — 
God  has  given  you  wits — think!" 

"  'And  then  I,  half-stunned — ^more,  to  say  truth,  for  pity  for  my 
master,  my  brother,  than  for  any  sorrow  for  that  dead  Jezebel,  who 
had  struck  me  with  her  fist  more  than  once,  M.  I'Abbe! — I  think 
at  my  best.  And  I  can  think  only  of  a  dark  cellar,  but  little  used, 
without  the  house,  opening  into  an  enclosed  arene — I  know  of  no 
house  near,  like  it,  to  make  you  understand.  I  tell  him  of  this, 
and  he  says  I  am  un  brave — it  is  good!  But  we  shall  be  seen  from 
the  street — is  it  not  true  ?  But  I  say  no !  For  I  will  watch  from 
the  stair-top,  level  with  the  street,  that  no  one  comes,  while  he 
carries  it  across  the  arene.  And  none  will  hear  in  the  house,  for 
the  door  at  the  stair-head  within,  that  always  closes  of  itself,  and 

*  The  Abb6  seems  to  have  been  cnrioiisly  nnconscious  of  the  absurdity  of  put- 
ting on  paper  a  tale  that  was  to  be  a  secret!  However,  others  have  done  tiie  same 
tiiiiig,  forgetting  their  owq  li&bilitj  to  death  and  an  execator. 


664  ADDENDUM 

is  heavy  so  that  no  sound  may  pass.  My  master  would  then  that 
I  should  carry  it  across  the  arene,  while  he  would  watch  above.  But 
I  say  to  him:  "How  then,  my  dear  master,  if  the  watchman  who  is 
always  on  his  beat  (qui  se  tient  toujours  aux  aguets)  should  note 
you  in  passing?  What  would  you  say — you  who  never  descend  to 
this  etage?  He  knows  me  well,  and  that  I  sleep  below.  It  is  an 
affair  of  a  word,  and  he  passes  on."  So  then  my  master  assents, 
with  a  sort  of  growl  or  snarl  (espece  de  grognement)  terrible  to 
hear ;  and  I  find  the  key  of  this  cellar,  and  open  it  with  some  force, 
for  it  is  seldom  opened.  It  is  a  large  cellar,  or  washhouse,  very 
dark,  for  the  window  is  closed  over  with  boards. 

"  *I  carry  my  lamp  with  great  care  across  the  arene,  and  place  it 
safely  in  the  cellar.  Then  I  find  in  the  fuel-cellar,  near  by,  a  spade 
and  a  crowbar.  And  then  I  tell  my  master  all  is  ready,  and  he 
must  listen  for  my  signal  that  none  is  near  to  see.  Then  I  go 
to  the  stair-top  and  watch.  And  there  is  no  one  near  but  some 
drabs  and  young  gallants,  singing  discordantly  and  all  drunk.  I 
wait  to  see  them  well  past,  and  to  see  that  they  have  assaulted  the 
watch,  who  sounds  his  rattle  (fait  son  allarme  de  sonnette).  So 
I  know  they  are  employed,  and  give  my  signal,  a  tap  on  the  kitchen 
window. 

"  *M.  I'Abbe,  I  can  see  him  now !  I  can  see  him  come  bearing 
IT  across  his  shoulder,  round  the  corner  of  the  house,  and  pass 
under  an  archway  that  crosses  the  arene.  And  as  he  comes,  its 
bead  strikes — hard! — on  the  pier  of  the  archway.  But  he  gives 
no  heed  to  this,  for  what  he  carries  has  no  feeling.  Oh — horrible — 
horrible!  .  .  . 

"  'M.  I'Abbe,  I  can  tell  no  more  now.  If  God  pleases  that  I  shall 
live  till  to-morrow,  I  will  tell  you  more.'  - 

"May  29. — I  have  thought  it  better  to  defer  my  visit  to  the  poor 
old  Michaud.  He  was  exhausted  by  his  effort  the  day  before  yes- 
terday. I  found  him  much  rested  this  morning,  and  most  anxious 
to  resume  his  narrative.  I  told  him  he  should  do  so,  but  would  he 
answer  first  a  question,  to  satisfy  my  curiosity.  It  was  not  to  find 
any  name  nor  place.  'Tell  me,'  I  said,  *as  to  this  master  of  yours, 
iWas  he  of  noble  birth?' 

" 'Assuredly,  M.  I'Abbe !' 

"  'And  was  he — this  uncontrollable  violence  apart — an  honour- 
able gentleman,  just  in  his  dealings  with  his  fellow-men,  and  gener- 
ous and  forbearing  to  those  weaker  than  himself  ?' 

"  'I  never  knew  him  under  any  other  character,  M.  I'Abbe ;  until 
indeed  he  gave  me  the  whole  story  of  the  embrouillement  which  led 


ADDENDUM  565 

to  this  awful  business.  I  had  always  figured  him  to  myself  strictly 
honourable  in  all  money  matters.  As  to  galanteries,  no  doubt  he 
was  like  his  father;  but  in  these  matters  we  know,  M.  I'Abbe,  that 
all  young  men  of  spirit,  in  a  high  position,  are  the  same.  What 
would  you  ?' 

"'I  would  many  things,  mon  cher  Israel,  that  I  shall  never 
attain,  in  this  world — among  others  that  men  of  spirit  should  be 
neither  vermin  nor  devils.  But  do  not  let  us  waste  your  strength 
over  discussion.  Go  on  and  tell  me  what  happens  next.  Your 
master  carries  this  poor  lady,  his  victim,  to  the  vault  for 
burial ' 

"  'Ah,  M.  I'Abbe,  do  not  speak  so  cruelly.  Mon  pauvre  maitre ! 
But  I  will  tell  you.  Listen!  My  master  carries  her  to  the  vault, 
but  I  do  not  see  him  go.  For  when  the  head  strikes  on  the  hard 
brick,  I  am  sick  and  look  away,  to  see  no  more.  And  I  see,  down 
the  street,  that  the  young  bloods  and  their  women  have  gone  their 
ways,  in  great  glee,  and  the  watchman  is  in  pain  sitting  doubled  up 
on  the  pavement  edge.  Then  I  hear  my  master  say,  "pst !  Israel !" — 
And  I  must  go.  .  .  . 

"  'There  on  the  brick-floor  is  what  was  the  woman,  all  askew 
(toute  de  biais).  She  that  was  dancing,  gay,  full  of  repartee;  for 
she  was  a  bel  esprit — one  cannot  deny  it ! — And  now  look  at  her ! — 
ah,  my  God! 

"  'But  there  is  no  time  for  caquetage.  We  must  work.  We 
choose  a  place  for  the  grave  that  no  prayer  will  be  said  over.  And 
I  take  the  crowbar  and  loosen  up  the  first  floor-brick.  The  bricks 
are  set  zig-zag,  and  it  is  difficult.  My  master  becomes  impatient. 
But  in  time  it  is  done,  and  I  take  the  spade  and  we  work  alter- 
nately in  silence  for  what  I  should  have  believed  an  hour.  But  it 
is  less.    We  are  both  strong  and  can  work  quick. 

"  'Then  comes  the  terrible  moment.  Ah,  M.  I'Abbe — a  moment 
to  make  the  strong  man  shudder.  I  can  hardly  speak  of  it  now. 
But  it  has  to  be  done.  .  .  . 

"  'We  have  straightened  out  the  body  when  I  entered  the  vault. 
That  is  well  done.  And  my  master  throws  back  the  dress-lappet 
to  hide  (masquer)  the  face.  We  need  not  see  it  again.  Then  says 
my  master  to  me:  "You  merit  your  reward,  my  Israel.  Take  the 
rings.  It  would  be  a  pity  to  lose  the  good  rings."  But  no !  I  would 
not.  Then  my  master  stoops  and  takes  the  rings  from  the  hand, 
bague  d'alliance  and  all,  and  would  have  me  take  them.  But  I  still 
refuse,  and  he  calls  me  fool ;  but  slips  the  rings  in  his  pocket.  But 
he  will  not  unmask  the  face  again,  for  all  the  pearls  there  are  on 
the  neck.    I  saw  them. 


i«<  ADDENDUM 

"'Solie  takes  the  head  and  I  take  the  feet,  and  we  lay  it  in  the 
new-made  grave.  And  we  fill  in  the  sandy  moxTld,  so  much  as  will 
enter  in,  and  commence  to  replace  the  bricks  as  before.  Bat  one 
foot,  with  its  satin  shoe,  will  protrude  do  what  we  may!  Then 
my  master,  impatient,  snatches  up  a  brick  and  beats  it  into  the 
groimd.  And  I  turn  sick  and  hide  my  eyes,  for  I  hear  the  bones 
that  crack  (la  fente  des  os). 

"  'Then  we  flush  over  all,  and  replace  the  brickwork  with  care. 
'Then,  there  is  question  about  the  mould  we  have  taken  out.  It  will 
show  itself,  and  reveal  all,  says  my  master.  But  I  tell  him  that  no 
one  comes  to  this  vault — that  I  will  lock  the  door,  and  take  the 
key.  And  years  inay  pass,  but  none  will  know.  Besides,  if  we 
work  longer  now  we  shall  be  seen ;  for  the  sun  has  come,  and  we  hear 
the  footsteps  of  the  workmen  going  to  their  work,  and  their  voices. 
And  the  clink  of  the  tin  cans  of  the  laitiere  as  she  goes  down  the 
street  en  criante.  It  is  time  to  get  back  to  bed.  "Madame  is  a 
sound  sleeper,  grace  a  Dieu,"  says  my  master.  And  we  go  back 
to  hide  our  hearts,  as  best  we  may.  .  .  .' 

"  'Ah,  poor  Israel,'  said  I,  'how  I  weep  for  you !  Eor  you  had 
'done  no  crime,  you  yourself !  Your  only  crime  was  that  you  gave 
help  to  a  man,  who  surely  seems  to  me — -pardon  my  frankness ! — 
"to  have  gone  near  to  be  a  devil  incarnate.' 

"  'Ah  no,  mon  pere !'  replied  the  old  man,  'it  is  not  as  you  think. 
For  what  merit  have  we  of  our  own,  the  best  among  us  ?  And  I 
know  this,  that  my  poor  master,  ere  he  died,  turned,  as  his  father 
had  done  before  him,  to  the  blessed  Lord  Jesus,  by  whose  blood  we 
can  alone  be  washed  free  from  sin.'  And  then  the  old  invalid  went 
on  to  console  himself  for  the  crime  of  a  man  he  held  in  loving 
memory,  by  a  long  screed  of  gibberish  (recit  de  baragouinages)  of 
the  so-caUed  Evangelical  sectaries.  For  there  is,  I  know,  more 
than  one  coterie  of  heretics  that  flatters  its  conscience  with  a  belief 
that  sin  is  safe  for  all  provided  that  the  sinner  applies  in  time 
(even  to  the  hour  of  his  death)  to  the  Lord  Jesus  as  his  Intercessor 
and  Mediator;  and  yet  fails  to  see  that  the  surest  way  to  His  mercy 
5s  through  the  beatified  Mary,  His  sweet  Mother.  Yet  I  too  hope 
that  this  intercession  may  not  be  for  sinners  only,  but  for  those 
who  have  lived  to  give  what-may-be  of  happiness  to  their  fellow- 
man.  But  I  will  not  be  led  away  by  this  theme.  Let  me  continue 
Michaud's  story.  He  had  broken  down  at  this  point,  and  I  would 
liave  had  him  desist.    But  presently  he  resumed,  of  his  own  accord. 

*'  'I  would  you  should  know,  M.  I'Abbe,  the  story  my  master  told 
me  of  the  events  that  anticipated  this  murder.  He  told  me  them 
all,  keeping  nothing  back — for  who  else  was  there  to  whom  he  could 


ADDENDUM  SSt 

speak? — ^feiit  by  fits  and  starts  (a  batons  rompus),  not  in  one  con- 
tinuous narrative.  It  is  too  long  to  tell  at  what  intervals  pre- 
cisely.   I  will  tell  it  in  one. 

"  'This  Madame  Quesnes  was  the  half-sister  of  my  master,  as  he 
had  said.  She  had  ever  (so  he  told  me)  been  scheming  and  plotting 
to  rob  his  daughter  of  an  inheritance  specially  devised  to  her  by  his 
father.  It  was  owing  to  an  entanglement,  he  said,  that  it  all  came 
about.  For  his  father,  being  whimsical  in  his  old  age,  and  not 
being  in  good  terms  with  his  belle-fiUe,  my  master's  wife,  though 
much  attached  to  his  grandchild  her  daughter,  had  thought  well 
to  attach  a  special  condition  to  this  bequest;  namely,  that  on  com- 
ing of  age  his  grandchild  should  be  in  possession  of  a  certain  ring 
he  had  given  her,  else  she  should  not  inherit.  "Naturally,"  said 
my  master,  "I  entrusted  this  ring  to  the  care  of  Madame,  my  wife, 
enjoining  her  to  wear  it  night  and  day.  And  this  she  did,  until, 
as  I  shall  tell  you,  it  was  stolen  from  her  by  my  sister,.  Madame 
Quesnes,  on  the  evening  of  the  ball  that  ended  sq  disastrously  for 
her."  .  -  . 

"  *I  need  not  say,  M.  I'Abbe,  that  it  was  not  for  me,  a  poor  servi- 
tor, to  understand  tlie  ins-and-outs  of  the  inheritance  of  property. 
I  was  content  to  make  no  enquiry  about  tliis  matter, — tliou^  it 
seemed  to  me  strange, — and  to  be  content  that  all  was  as  my  master 
told  me.  I  myself  saw  somewhat  of  the  theft  in  the  ballroom,  aind 
can  answer  in  part  for  the  truth  of  my  master's  narrative,  of 
which  I  can  repeat  the  words.  But  first  I  moist  tell  you  of  the 
reason  no  enquiry  was  made  about  the  disappearance  of  Madame 
Quesnes.  It  was  this.  At  the  end  of  this  ball,  it  may  be  at  two  or 
three  in  the  morning,  there  broke  out  a  great  quarrel  among  cer- 
tain gentlemen  who  in  an  upper  room  had  been  playing  cards  for 
high  stakes.  And  some  would  hav-e  it  that  a  certain  Milord 
Anglais,  who  was  routed  to  be  the  lover  of  this  Madame  Quesnes — 
but  what  do  I  know? — had  provoked  her  husband  to  the  duel  by 
accusations  of  cheating  at  cards,  whereon  blows  were  struck  and 
swords  drawn.  But  my  master — ^this  I  saw — coming  from  the 
dancing-room  in  anger,  bade  them  put  up  their  swords  and  begone 
to  the  Pare  to  fight,  as  became  gallant  gentlemen,  rather  than  to 
buffet  one  another  on  the  stairs  like  drunken  citizens  in  a  tavern 
hrawl.  And  they,  all  in  fear  of  him,  for  none  would  face  his 
sword, — as  it  was,  to  say  the  truth,  an  assured  death  to  do  so> — 
went  away  to  the  Pare  as  bidden,  and  there  M.  Quesnes  met  his  end 
from  the  sword  of  Milord,  who  fought,  having  won  the  choice  of 
place,  with  his  back  to  the  sun.  But  from  that  hour  Milord  was 
not  again  seen,  and  the  tale  went  that  he  and.  Madajiie  Qneanes  had 


558  ADDENDUM 

fled  together  and  were  living  together,  in  Italy  or  Corsica,  more 
because  there  was  much  anger  at  Court  over  the  death  of  her  hus- 
band than  from  any  mauvaise-honte  of  their  amours.  Indeed, 
some  said  he  had  made  her  his  wife;  but  others  made  light  of  this, 
saying  he  had  little  need  to  do  so,  and  was  not  the  man.  This 
story  was  the  more  easy  of  belief  that  my  master  affirmed  that,  an 
hour  or  so  after  all  had  departed,  he  came  from  his  room  hearing 
a  noise,  and  saw  Madame  Quesnes  going  downstairs  as  though  to 
leave  the  house.  And  this,  M.  I'Abbe,  you  will  see  was  true,  if  I 
tell  you  the  rest  of  my  master's  tale  in  his  own  words : — 

« <  "This  arrangement  of  the  inheritance  being  seen  and  well 
understood,  mon  Israel,"  said  he,  "figure  to  yourself  my  anger  and 
disgust  when  I  hear  this  woman  proclaim  aloud  at  the  ball  that 
she  has  taken  a  wager  that  no  lady  in  the  room  has  ten  stones  in  a 
ring,  setting  aside  small  stones  that  encircle  other  stones.  Well,  I 
know  this  is  a  scheme  of  hers  to  get  my  wife's  ring  from  her  finger 
and  snatch  it  away  and  hide  it.  For  I  know  her  capable  of  such 
conduct.  And  I  hear  her  tell  some  cock-and-bull  tale  (histoire) 
when  I  refuse  to  allow  this  ring  to  leave  my  wife's  finger,  of  how  it 
is  really  a  ring  of  her  mother's  that  my  wife  has  stolen.  And 
then,  as  I  would  not  offend  the  great  Duke  who  had  laid  the  wager, 
I  myself  keep  hold  of  the  ring  for  him  to  count  the  stones.  And 
between  us,  each  thinking  the  ring  in  the  other's  keeping,  we  let 
go  at  the  instant.  And  then  as  the  ring  rolls  away  on  the  ground, 
I  am  called  away  to  make  peace  without.  And  then,  when  I  return, 
where  is  the  ring  ?  Where,  truly  ?  But  Madame,  my  sister,  knows, 
and  knows  well.  And  I  see,  from  her  face,  what  my  wife  believes, 
and  I  speak  with  her ;  for  I  would  know  also.  What  she  tells  me  is, 
that  Mademoiselle  my  niece  has  seen  her  aunt  stoop  and  pick  up 
the  ring" — this,  M.  I'Abbe,  was  the  young  orpheline  daughter  of 
his  brother  the  soldier;  she  had  but  sixteen  years — a  child — and 
this  marmotte  repeats  again  what  she  has  seen;  and  that  Madame 
her  aunt  escaped  by  the  other  door,  at  the  moment  that  I  returned. 
It  is  enough!  I  pursue  her,  and  meet  you  without.  You  remem- 
ber? .  .  ." 

"  'And  M.  I'Abbe,' — thus  spoke  Michaud  himself, — *I  remembered 
well,  and  that  I  had  seen  Madame  Quesnes  make  away  through 
the  door  leading  down  to  ♦the  entresol.  And  her  return  at  this 
moment,  and  that  my  master  taxed  her  with  the  theft,  and  she 
defied  him,  and  denied  all  knowledge  of  the  ring.  But  she  made 
but  a  poor  excuse  for  her  inexplicable  visit  below,  where  she  may 
have  been  three  minutes,  before  my  master  met  me  on  the  stairs 
above,  seeking  her,  and  heard  from  me  that  she  was  below/ 


^^u< 


ADDENDUM  659 

"1  did  not  want  Miclaaud  to  waste  his  strength  in  making  clear 
points  of  small  importance,  so  I  recalled  him  to  the  narrative  of 
the  murderer  himself. 

"  'I  will  tell  you  tout-de-suite,  mon  pere.  But  now,  I  wish  to 
make  you  see,  so  to  speak,  the  excited  confusion  of  the  guests  who 
disperse,  and  to  hear  the  voix  terrible  of  my  master,  who  silences  all 
recriminations  by  calling  out  that  he  knows  well  who  has  the  ring, 
and  it  will  be  found  in  time.  But  for  M.  le  Due,  the  great  man, 
he  has  only  apologies  that  this  fracas  should  cross  the  pleasure  of 
his  guests,  and  tries  now  to  treat  the  whole  concern  as  contemptible 
(faire  fi  de  I'affaire  toute  entiere)  and  the  ring  itself  as  a  mere 
brimborion.  And  for  the  Duke,  he  speaks  him  fair,  but  shows 
himself  incredulous.  And  then,  the  last  carriage  and  the  last  Sedan 
chair  (chaise  a  porteurs)  is  gone,  and  when  my  master  turns  to  seek 
his  sister — behold !  she  is  gone  away  to  bed,  for  she  and  her  husband 
were  to  sleep  in  the  house,  having  come  from  the  country  expressly 
for  this  ball.  And  Madame  pacifies  him,  and  swears  that  it  is  but 
that  his  sister  is  only  making  game  of  him  (veut  plaisanter) ;  and 
at  least,  she  will  not  leave  the  house.  And  then  my  master,  to 
make  sure,  gives  a  double  turn  to  the  key  of  the  porta  d'entree,  and 
all  go  to  their  rooms.  I  delay  only  to  put  out  the  lights  and  then 
descend  to  my  room  below  and  am  soon  unconscious.  But  for  what 
happened  while  I  am  asleep,  I  will  tell  you  again  my  master's  own 
words. 

"  *  "After  I  go  to  my  room" — it  was  thus  he  told  me — **I  am  too 
inflamed  against  Madame  my  sister  to  repose,  and  I  do  not  go  to 
bed  at  once.  My  wife  goes  to  bed,  and  sleeps  sound.  She  can  sleep, 
and  is  sure  the  ring  will  be  found.  It  is  impossible  my  sister  should 
be  so  friponne.  At  least,  she  can  sleep,  if  I  cannot!  And  then, 
a  little  time  after,  I  hear  a  light  struck,  and  I  hear  footsteps.  And 
as  I  look  out  from  my  door  to  see  who  is  moving,  I  hear  the  creak 
(grincement)  of  the  door  of  your  stair.  And  then  I  say  to  myself, 
mon  cher  Israel,  that  this  young  maroufle  whom  my  sister  has 
brought  with  her  from  the  country,  and  who  seems  a  Bohemien,  a 
Gipsy,  may  be  in  league  with  burglars ;  and  I  cheat  myseK  in  figur- 
ing him  descending  the  stairs  nu-pieds,  to  admit  the  voleur-de- 
nuit.  And  it  is  for  me  an  accursed  fancy  (reve  maudit),  for  it 
is  this  that  makes  me  carry  my  sword — Dieu  ait  merci! — sans 
fourreau;  et  c'est  qa  qui  m'a  fait  autant  de  malheur.  Ne  suis-je 
pas  vraiment  malheureux,  mon  Israel? 

" '  "Well !  I  too  descend  the  stairs,  not  too  quickly,  lest  mon  ami 
vilain  should  not  be  well  inside  the  house  when  I  arrive.    It  is  to 

e  a  divertissement.    But  I  am  surprised  to  find,  at  the  stairfoot. 


560  'ADDENDUM 

beyond  the  door  of  the  squeaking  hinge,  my  sister  still  in  Her 
eostume-de'danse,  who  has  just  lighted  her  lamp.  And  at  this  1 
do  not  wonder;  for  thou  knowest  how  dark  it  is  below  there.  But 
I  do  wonder,  for  a  moment,  what  may  be  the  business  of  Madame 
in  the  basement,  at  this  hour.  Then,  in  another  moment,  I  have 
understood  all,  and  I  speak. 

ui\i  <You  have  hidden  the  ring  down  here,  my  beloved  sister,  and 
now  you  have  descended  to  find  it.' 

"  *  "  'It  is  true,  my  beloved  brother !'  she  replies  in  a  mocking  tone, 
*but  what  would  you?  I  can  look  for  it  another  time,  when  my 
beloved  brother  is  not  here.  Ah! — my  dear  brother,  mon  frere  de 
demi-sang,  who  is  it  that  would  have  torn  the  clothes  from  my  back, 
to  hunt  for  this  ring — sans  respect,  sans  egard  ni  de  femme  ni  de 
sceur?  See  now!  I  am  alone  here — I  am  powerless.  Search! — 
search !  but  there  will  be  no  ring.'  And  she  laughs  in  my  face  (me 
rit  au  nez).  And  thou  knowest,  mon  Israel,  the  laugh  of  my  sister 
when  she  mocks.  And  she  laughs  long ;  and  loud  enough,  I  should 
have  thought,  to  wake  you  in  your  chenil  down  there.  But  in  truth 
you  had  drunk  too  much,  and  M.  FIvrogne  sleeps  sound.  ConfesB 
it,  mon  cher !    Have  I  not  reason  ?    At  least,  you  do  not  wake. 

« c  a  <]y;ais  cherche — cherche  toujours,  mon  frere  si  bicn  aime !  Tu 
ne  la  trouveras  pas — la  bague  precieuse^ — sur  ma  personne.  Voila 
ce  qui  est  vrai!  Mais  peut-etre  tu  peux  la  trouver  ailleurs:  Elle 
n'est  pas  loin  de  vous,  Monsieur  l'£corcheur.  Cherche,  cherche 
bien !    Tu  la  trouveras.  .  .  .' 

"*"I  am  enraged  against  her,  and  rage — ^be  sure  of  it!'  But  I 
know  she  is  speaking  truth — for  brothers  always  know,  of  each 
other,  or  sisters  of  sisters,  or  either  of  other,  if  there  is  truth  iu' 
what  is  said.  And  I  seek  about,  and  she  makes  as  thou^  to  accom- 
modate me  with  the  lamp  she  holds,  mocking  always,  and  saying 
BOW,  you  are  warmer — now  colder,  as  the  children  play  at  cache- 
cache."  ' 

"(I  then  knew — ^I  had  not  seen  it  before — that  all  this  had  taken 
place  in  England.  For  there  the  children  play  'hide  and  seek'  in 
this  way.  But  I  say  nothing,  and  Michaud  continued,  repeating 
always  the  tale  of  his  master.) 

"  *  "And  I  seek  thus,  feeling  sure  that  what  she  says  is  true,  so 
far  as  that  she  has  concealed  the  ring,  and  at  no  great  distance. 
Then  says  she,  making  a  moue,  as  one  does  to  a  child — why  do  I  not 
seek  in  the  kitchen?  I  pass  into  the  kitchen,  all  dark  with  closed 
shutters;  and  I  search  about,  while  she  stands,  the  vixen,  leaning 
back  against  the  window-cupboard,  her  arms  akimbo,  or  her  elbows 
oa  the  ledge,  where  also  she  places  her  lamp.    None  can  say  she 


ADDENDUM  561 

is  not  a  comely  wench ;  but  as  for  me,  she  maddens  me  and  I  hate 
her. 

"  *  "Then  when  this  farce  has  gone  on  some  while — ^I  know  not 
how  long — she  breaks  into  a  low  malicious  laugh.  *Ah,  mon  frere 
bien-aime,'  she  says,  'you  are  colder  now  than  ever!  You  were 
warmer  in  the  passage.' 

"  <  "Then  the  Devil  seizes  on  me,  and  I  become  mad — yes ! — 
mad  outright,  mon  Israel !  'You  said  it  was  here,'  I  cry,  f urieuse- 
ment.  But,  with  irritating  calmness,  she  picks  up  her  lamp,  toss- 
ing her  head.  'But  I  never  said  so,'  says  she,  almost  smiling,  'I 
only  said  why  not  seek  in  the  kitchen?' 

"  '  "And  then  he  possesses  me  outright — the  Devil !    I  am  his. 

'""Oh,  mon  Israel!  thou  dost  not  know — hast  never  known — 
how  swift,  how  facile  to  the  swordsman's  hand  is  the  weapon  he 
knows  so  well!  None  can  know  it  who  has  not  been,  as  I  have 
truly,  a  great  swordsjnan,  a  perfect  master !  But  I  tell  you,  it  was 
the  Devil  that  seized  me.  As  I  stood  there,  her  mocking  smile,  her 
lip  that  curled  up  from  her  white  teeth,  her  head  thrown  back,  her 
eyelids  dropped — all  fed  my  deUriima  of  fury.  Again  she  spoke, 
with  sweetness. 

"  '  "  'It  is  time  for  bed,  mon  frere  hien-aimie.  Let  us  go.  Madame 
will  miss  you.  Et  mon  mari  adorable  sera  aussi  de  retour — s'il 
n'est  pas  tue  par  ce  joli  petit  MHord  Anglais.  AUons — tu  peux 
chercher  encore  demain — et  le  demain  suivant.  .  ^  „' 

" '  "Oui,  je  le  redis,  mon  IsraeL  Nul  autre  pent  le  savoir,  la 
demangeaison  de  doigts  qu'eUe  sent  pour  son  epee — ^la  main  qui 
sait  bien  s'en  servir  ^  .  .  c'est  ga  qui  m'a  trahi — ^mais  elle  aurait  du 
penser  a  ga.    M'exasperer  ainsi !    Elle  aurait  du  penser.  .  .  ." ' 

"At  this  point  I  saw  (says  the  Abbe)  that  the  old  man  was  be- 
coming exhausted  after  so  long  a  recital.  He  consented  to  stop,  but 
said :  'I  have  more  to  telL'    He  then  fell  asleep  and  I  left  him. 

"June  2. — I  have  again  seen  old  Israel,  and  he  has  told  me  the 
rest  of  his  story,  but  of  a  continuity  so  broken  that  I  judge  it  best 
to  write  the  narrative  as  my  memory  understands  it,  and  not  to 
attempt  to  give  all  his  fragmentary  words. 

"He  told  me  how  the  murderer,  having  none  other  to  confide  in, 
and  (not  being  a  Christian)  having  no  resource  in  the  Church, 
had  talked  to  him  constantly.  And,  said  he,  he  could  see  that  the 
tooth  of  his  remorse  bit  deep.  Yet  he  would  marvel,  when  by 
chance  the  name  of  this  Esther  (the  sister's  name,  which  also  came 
accidentally)  was  spoken  in  his  circle,  how  bravely  he  would  speak 
out  and  denounce  her  for  the  dishonour  she  had  done  to  his  family. 


562  ADDENDUM 

jusqu'alors  sans  tache!  For,  as  he  had  told  me  before,  she  was 
supposed  at  this  time  to  be  living  in  sin  with  the  noble  Milord 
Anglais.  And  when  he  did  not  reappear  (for  he  never  did)  it  was 
laid  to  her  account.  But  she  could  not  be  caught,  so  none  was  any 
the  wiser.  And  the  story  being  put  about  by  my  master  that  she 
had  left  the  house  on  the  morning  of  the  duel,  and  was  nowhere  to 
be  found,  put  a  padlock  on  gossip  (cadenassait  les  langues). 

"Yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  when  he  was  alone  with  his  so  faithful 
servant,  the  Sieur  Latreille  would  break  down  and  shed  tears. 
Then,  one  day,  being  greatly  afflicted  at  heart,  he  told  him  that  he 
would  not  have  the  guilt  on  his  soul  of  having  told  him  a  lie ;  and 
then  admitted  that  his  version  of  the  inheritance  and  the  ring  story 
was  false,  and  that  he  had  really  in  some  way  deceived  his  father. 
But  of  this  I  have  understood  little,  and  can  only  think  that  poor 
Michaud  must  have  misconceived  much  of  it,  or  been  flagging 
when  he  tried  to  tell  it ;  for  it  was  (as  I  heard  it)  a  mere  galimatias, 
a  confused  tale  of  the  initials  of  the  ring-jewels  which  made  up  his 
wife's  name  of  Phillis — I  could  make  no  sense  of  it. 

"But  this  was,  it  may  be,  no  truer  than  the  other  version  he  had 
told.  I  mistrust  all  the  story,  except  the  portion  poor  old  Israel 
himself  knows  for  truth.    That  he  is  truth-telling  I  cannot  doubt. 

"One  thing  more  he  told  me,  that  one  should  put  on  record.  His 
master  continued  uneasy  about  the  soil  that  had  been  dug  up  out 
of  the  grave,  and  that  still  lay  in  a  heap  in  the  vault  where  they 
had  left  it.  He  himself  was  unwilling  to  make  any  effort  to  con- 
ceal this,  thinking  that  no  one  would  see  anything  in  it  more 
than  some  rubbish  left  by  bricklayers.  But  his  master  had  in  his 
soul  the  restlessness  of  guilt,  and  must  needs  be  always  doing 
something  active  to  conceal  his  crime.  So  he  persuades  Michaud 
to  go  with  him  in  the  dead  of  night,  and  to  remove  this  rubbish  or 
loam  in  basket-loads,  choosing  for  its  receptacle  a  hollow  (conca- 
vite)  in  the  wall  under  the  stairway — of  which  I  can  only  under- 
stand this,  that  it  is  covered  in  part  by  a  large  beer-cask,  and 
that  when  this  is  shifted  aside,  and  Michaud  reaches  down  to  find 
its  depth,  behold  a  beer-jug  in  a  recess  which  he  would  have  re- 
moved before  filling  in  the  loam.  Thereat,  said  he,  his  master  was 
in  a  great  perturbation.  One  minute  he  would  have  this  jug  re- 
moved, the  next  he  commands  that  it  should  be  left  quiet — now 
this  way,  now  that,  comme  une  vraie  girouette. 

"  'Enfin,'  said  he,  'nous  sommes  decides  de  laisser  tranquille  cette 
cruche,  et  de  ga  je  me  sens  mecontent;  parce  que  je  I'ai  reconnue 
pour  une  cruche  egaree  I'an  passe,  pour  laquelle  I'on  a  fait  chercher 
beaucoup — oui,  que  I'on  a  cru  volee.     "Alors,"  dit  mon  maitre. 


ADDENDUM  563 

'laissez-les  croire!  Plutot  qa,  que  de  faire  soupQonner  les  gens  qui 
ne  soupQonnent  rien,  Remplacez-la-vite ! — vite !"  Et  ensuite,  je  la 
remplace,  et  nous  allons  verser  les  paniers  tous  pleins  dans  le  trou. 
Et  enfin  c'est  fini !'  .  .  . 

"It  made  me  sad  (adds  the  Abbe)  that  I  could  not  join  my  iwor 
friend  in  his  attempts  to  whitewash  (reblanehir)  his  old  friend 
and  master.  But  I  would  gladly  have  done  so  had  I  seen  a  loophole. 
I  could  only  say  that  we  must  hope  that  the  Almighty  Wisdom, 
which  can  truly  read  the  human  heart,  might  find  some  excuses  for 
his  conduct  which  it  was  not  given  to  our  limited  vision  to  dis- 
tinguish." 

"August  22,  1814. — The  poor  Israel  Michaud  is  departed,  ninety- 
eight  years  of  age.  Had  he  lived  till  la  Saint  Michel,  he  would 
have  been  ninety-nine.  He  had  been  happier,  he  said,  in  this  last 
year  and  a  half,  for  having  told  me  the  terrible  tale  of  the  murder 
of  Madame  Quesnes.  He  held  to  his  affection  for  his  old  master, 
the  Sieur  Latreille,  to  the  last.  It  was  a  strange  fascination!  I 
have  promised  to  pray  for  this  murderer,  and  must  do  so.  But, 
mon  Dieu !  with  how  much  more  heart  one  prays  for  good  men,  than 
for  human  wolves  and  foxes !" 


(Editor's  Note. — As  there  are  stiU  so  many  who  do  not  read 
French,  the  above  has  been  translated  so  as  to  suggest  its  original 
as  nearly  as  possible — retaining  the  French  at  discretion  in  one  or 
two  places,  and  bracketing  in  the  words  that  might  add  emphasis 
to  their  substitutes.  This  treatment  of  a  foreign  language  is  not 
without  precedent.) 


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tions  of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  doth. 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

LAVENDER  AND  OLD  LACE.    By  Myrtle  Reed. 

A  charming  story  of  a  quaint  comer  of  New  England  where  bygone 
romance  &n&  a  modern  parallel.  One  of  the  prettiest,  sweetest,  ami 
quaintest  of  old-fashioned  love  stories  *  *  *  A  rare  book,  ex- 
quisite in  spirit  and  conception,  full  of  delicate  fancA',  of  tenderness, 
of  delightful  humor  and  spontaneity,  A  dainty  volume,  especially 
suitable  for  a  gift. 

DOCTOR  LUKE  OF  THE  LABRADOR.  By  Norman 
'  Duncan.  With  a  frontispiece  and  inlay  cover. 
How  the  doctor  came  to  the  bleak  Labrador  coast  and  there  in  sav 
itSjg  life  made  expiation.  In  dignity,  simplicity,  humor,  in  sympathetic 
etching  of  a  sturdy  fisher  people,  and  above  all  in  the  echoes  of  the 
sea.  Doctor  Luke  is  worthy  of  great  praise.  Character,  humor,  poign- 
ant pathos,  and  the  sad  grotesque  conjunctions  of  old  and  new  civili- 
zations are  expressed  through  the  medium  of  a  style  that  has  distinc- 
tion and  strikes  a  note  of  rare  personality. 

THE  DAY'S  WORK.    By  Rudyard  Kipling.    Illistrated. 

The  London Morninp  Post sayst  "It  would  be  hard  to  find  better 
teading  ♦  »  «  the  book  is  so  varied,  so  full  of  color  and  life  from 
end  to  end,  that  few  who  read  the  first  two  or  three  stories  will  lay  it 
down  till  they  have  read  the  last— 'and  the  last  is  a  veritable  gem 

•  *  *  contains  some  of  the  best  of  his  highly  vivid  work  •  •  • 
£ipling  is  ahom  story-teller  and  a  man  of  hmnor  into  the  baxg^n. 

ELEANOR  LEE.    By  Margaret  E.  Songster.    Whh  a  front- 
ispiece. 

A  story  of  married  life,  and  attractive  pictnre  of  wedded  bliss  •  • 
an  entertaining  story  or  a  man's  redemption  through  a  woman's  love 

♦  *  *  no  one  who  knows  anything  of  marriage  or  parenthood  can 
read  this  story  with  eyes  that  are  always  dry  ♦  *  *  goes  straight 
to  the  heart  of  everyone  who  knows  the  meaning  of  "love  "and 
•♦home.j^' 

THE  COLONEL  OF  THE  RED  HUZZARS.  By  John 
Reed  Scott.  Illustrated  by  Clarence  F.  Underwood. 
*Ftill  of  absorbing  charm,  sastained  interest,  and  a  wealth  of 
fhriUing  and  romantic  situations.  "  So  naively  fresh  in  its  handling, 
so  plausible  through  its  naturalness,  that  it  comes  like  a  mountain 
breeze  across  the  far-spreading  desert  of  similar  roma;nces." — Gazette- 
Times,  Pittsbttrg,    "  A  slap-^hing  day  romance."— iV<PW  York  Sutu 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  -  NEW  YORK 


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'  Re-issues  of  the  great  literary  successes  of  the  time.  Library 
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tions of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth. 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

BARREL  OF  THE  BLESSED  ISLES.  By  Irving  Bach- 
eller.  With  illustrations  by  Arthur  Keller, 
•'Darrel,  the  clock  tinker,  is  a  wit,  philosopher,  and  man  of  mystery. 
Learned,  strong:,  kindly,  dignified,  he  towers  like  a  eiant  above  the 
people  among  whom  he  lives.  It  is  another  tale  of  tne  North  Coun- 
try, full  of  the  odor  of  wood  and  field.  Wit,  humor,  pathos  and  high 
thinking  are  in  this  book." — Boston  Transcript. 

D'Rl  AND  I :    A  Tale  of  Daring  Deeds  in  the  Second  War 

with  the  British.    Being  the  Memoirs  of  Colonel  Ramoa 

Bell,  U.  S.  A.    By  Irving  Bacheller.    With  illustrations  by 

F.  C.  Yohn. 

"  Mr.  Bachellw  is  admirable  alike  in  his  scenes  of  peace  and  war. 

D'ri,  a  mighty  hunter,  has  the  same  dry  humor  as  Uncle  Eb.      He 

fights  magnificently  on  the  '  Lawrence,'  and  was  among  the  wounded 

when  Ferry  went  to  the  *  Niagara.'      As  a  romance  of  early  American 

history  it  is  great  for  the  enthusiasm  it  creates." — New  York  Times. 

EBEN  HOLDEN :  A  Tale  of  the  North  Country.  By  Irving 
Bacheller. 
"  As  pure  as  water  and  as  good  as  bread,"  says  Mr.  Howells.  "Read 
'  Eben  Holden  ' "  is  the  advice  of  Margaret  Sangster.  "  It  is  a  forest- 
scented,  fresh-aired,  bracing  and  wholly  American  story  of  country 
and  town  life.  *  *  *  If  in  the  far  future  our  successors  wish  to 
know  what  were  the  real  life  and  atmosphere  in  which  the  country 
folk  that  saved  this  nation  grew,  loved,  wrought  and  had  their  being, 
they  must  go  back  to  such  true  and  zestful  and  poetic  tales  of  "fiction* 
as '  Eben  Holden,'  "  says  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman. 

SILAS  STRONG:  Emperor  of  the  Woods.    By  Irving  Bach- 
eller.    With  a  frontispiece. 

**  A  modem  Leatkerstocking.    Brings  the  city  dweller  the  aroma  of 
the  pine  and  the  music  of  the  wind  m  its  branches — an  epic  poem 
♦    *    *    forest-scented,  fresh-aired,  and  wholly  American.  A  stronger 
character  than  Eben  Holden." — Chicago  Record- Herald. 
VERGILIUS:   A  Tale  of  the  Coming  of  Christ.    By  Irving 

Bacheller. 
-   A  thrilling  and  beautiful  story  of  two  young  Roman  patricians  whose 
ereat  and  perilous  love  in  the  reign  of  Augustus  leads  them  through 
the  momentous,  exciting  events  that  marked  the  year  just  preceding 
the  birth  of  Christ. 

Splendid  character  studies  of  the  Emperor  Augustus,  of  Herodand 
his  degenerate  son,  Antipater,  and  of  his  dau^ter  "the  incomjarable** 
Salome.    A  great  triumph  in  the  art  of  bistoncal  portrait  painting. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  '-  NEW  YORK 


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